The Academy: Acolyte Ascension
by Osetto
Summary: On the harsh world of Korriban, acolytes vie for the attention of their superiors at the Academy, hoping for the day they gain their apprenticeship. But for a particular group of students trained in the underhalls, things aren't as they seem. The arrival of a mysterious Sith Lord disrupts the status quo as eight individuals now find themselves on the path of ascension.
1. Prologue

_Foreword: This is an original story featuring original characters set in the universe of Bioware's 'Star Wars: The Old Republic'. Events depicted take place over a decade prior to events in-game and occur over the course of two years. Rated 'T' for depictions of violence and violent themes, as well as minor romantic scenes._

* * *

**Prologue**

It has been over two decades since the start of the Great War, the enduring conflict between the resurgent Sith Empire and the Galactic Republic. The Sith's early goal of retaking their homeworld of Korriban and re-establishing the Academy to train their acolytes amongst the countless tombs of fallen Lords has long since been seen to fruition.

Force-sensitives throughout Imperial space are brought to the Academy to gain strength and to learn the ways of the Sith. Walking their path under the watchful eyes of instructors and overseers, these acolytes vie to prove themselves to their dark masters. But for every potential Sith Lord in waiting, there remained a plethora of far less worthy individuals. Typically, such failures would find themselves dead and forgotten, tossed into the nearest crags to be fed on by wandering Sith hounds.

But deep within the Academy's vast underground dwellings, a peculiar group of students learned and advanced amongst the rock and dust. Blood was spilled. Bones were broken. Spirits were tested. But none expired. None were expelled. Only the bare minimum of prospective talent was expected from the students within these halls. For what purpose, they did not know. In their minds, all was normal.

There was enough truth, enough tradition to entice and satiate the acolytes. Keeping them content with their position year after year even as they showed little progress. Their expectations aligned with reality in such a way that no singular facet could appear unusual. The strong trained as warriors, exponents of martial combat. The cunning trained as inquisitors, manipulators of the mind and Force. Yet neither would receive anything approaching the true Academy's trials. Only debased approximations.

The tenets of the Sith were present, but restrained. Held back. Chained. Competition and rivalry, without the true threat of death. Unlocked potential and uncovered secrets, whilst never fully achieving understanding. The thought that one day, they would be acolytes no longer, but apprentices to powerful Lords who would foster their rise to power. But the Lords never came. No masters arrived to free them from their classrooms, from their squalor, from their worthlessness. But none would give up hope. Day after day. Week after week. Month after month. Year after year. They knew their time would come.

To convince them otherwise would prove an impossible feat. Regardless of the intent of their superiors, the Sith Code lay embedded in their young minds. All they needed was strength. All they needed was power. Then, they could shape their destinies. Unfortunately, those with power enough already were shaping theirs.

But the acolytes would not give up, not until they had achieved ascension.


	2. 1-01 Rumors

**Part I: Initiations**

**Chapter One: Rumors**

Holocrons. Immense repositories of the past, sealed away in the most insignificant of packages. Prisms of arcane knowledge. Sith secrets lie hidden within these crimson pyramids, unassuming to the untrained eye. But those who have studied the ways of dark, followed the teachings, pledged his or her life to the Empire, they knew the truth… that this was actually just a plasteel paperweight.

Occupying his quarters, which in reality amounted to little more than a desk, a couple of footlockers, and a rather uncomfortable bed, a young Sith acolyte lay in his dark, form-fitting robes, manipulating the handheld, ornately covered, pyramid-shaped trinket. Rather than tend to his studies, the Force-user opted for a bout of relaxation and drifting thoughts.

However, lying down and staring at the cold ceiling composed of the same featureless carved stones proved lacking in most aspects of mental provocation. Such was the entire design of this wing of the Academy. Dulled rock carved out centuries ago made up the walls, the floors, the ceilings. It was more a tomb than a genuine institution. But it was all the acolytes knew.

Surrounded by such mind-numbing surroundings, the young Human instead stared at the faux-holocron being slowly manipulated between his fingers. Over and over he turned it, gazing at each individual facet. But with a sudden release, the Sith dropped his raised hand to his abdomen, where it could join with his left. As his hands lay interlocked, the reclined individual kept the trinket afloat in the air with mere thought, and began rotating it through a mental whim.

The young adult didn't fit the description of your typical Sith, at least, not from the point of view of most Republic propaganda. Then again, the pale and decrepit Sith Lords that did exist didn't help the image. The Human did possess fair skin, but as a result of shunning the Korriban sun rather than dark side influence. The dark brown hair topping the Sith's head was short and unkempt. His rather boyish face was adorned with a thin set of stubble from one ear to the next. Most peculiar was perhaps the uncharacteristic smile that separated the acolyte from his peers.

"Lorrik!" an excited female's voice called out. Breaking his concentration, the floating holocron had no choice but to fall with one of its many points jabbing the startled Human in the eye. His trademark smile lost and right hand covering his injury, the acolyte sat up in his bed to address the intruder.

"Jora?" Lorrik spoke with a pleasant surprise. A classmate of his, the blonde Human poked her head around the stone corner that served as one of the quarter's boundaries. Three walled inlets, the acolytes didn't possess 'rooms' so much as delegated personal space. Coming fully into view, the similarly dressed figure passed the threshold of Lorrik's private quarters.

"Did you hear?" Jora asked, seemingly giddy with anticipation.

"That all depends," Lorrik replied, still holding his eye in higher regards than the conversation. The two were friends, or at least as close as two could get to being friends under the circumstances. The overly competitive atmosphere of their studies didn't lend itself to needless cooperation and companionship. But still, neither wanted to see the other dead, which was as good a foundation for friendship as any.

"Word is, the Academy's got a new Overseer," Jora slyly explained. Suddenly the pain in Lorrik's eye faded. Overseers played an integral part in an acolytes progression. A new one arriving would be enough to catch any student's attention.

Force-sensitives came to Korriban as initiates, either willingly or by force. Once they had begun their institutional education and displayed rudimentary knowledge, they were upgraded to acolytes. For Lorrik and his classmates, this is where all progression ceased.

They learned from instructors amongst the underworkings of the Academy, around ten of them to a class and eight classes in total. For these students, things resembled little more than an amalgamate of primary, military, and religious education. But unlike other schools, there would be no graduation. The only way they were leaving their classrooms was if they were apprenticed by a Sith Lord. An unlikely prospect.

The process of moving from acolyte to apprentice was a simple one. Earn the favor of a Sith Lord such that they take responsibility for one's further training. But simplicity did not spell ease. Especially for the classes in the halls below. The chances of a Sith Lord interacting with prospects themselves was slim to none. Instead, they worked through Overseers, whose duty was not to teach, but to weed out the weak from the strong. Groups of students would be handed to them at the behest of a Sith Lord. They would be tested, and those who succeeded would be deemed worthy of apprenticeship. More often than not, success was measured by simply being the last person left standing.

But no Overseers ever chose from the classrooms beneath the Academy. No masters ever showed interest in them. They were isolated, fated to continue their menial lessons in obscurity.

"New Overseer, eh?" Lorrik muttered, trying his hardest to remain neutral. "What're the chances this one will bother picking from our class?"

"Here's the thing," Jora softly stated, almost whispering. The woman leaned in closer, bubbling with intrigue. "In actuality, he's a Sith Lord acting as his own Overseer."

"What?" Lorrik balked. "Why would he subject himself to the process of picking through acolytes himself? I mean, unless he's got a thing for torturing his subjects, you'd think his time would be better spent elsewhere. Do we know how many he plans to review?"

"He's actually already chosen four from the warrior classrooms," Jora stated. What remained of Lorrik's smile quickly faded as he looked onward, dumbfounded. As a member of the inquisitor branch, he really saw no reason to seem overjoyed by this recent news.

The warriors and inquisitors represented two opposing, yet equally important ideologies of the Sith Empire and were different schools of learning entirely. The warrior: the clenched fist. The inquisitor: the sleight of hand. One an embodiment of physical technique, the other an embodiment of mental prowess. Both pride incarnate.

"Good for the warriors, then. It doesn't exactly concern us though, does it?" Lorrik regretfully asked.

"Except it does," Jora clarified. Lorrik offered only his continuing, blank stare. "He's also taking on four inquisitors from our classes."

"Eight students?" Lorrik muttered, scratching his chin. "Not entirely unheard of for an Overseer, but he'd be dealing with two completely different types of Sith. Even if the Lord planned on taking multiple apprentices, our kind don't exactly work well with one another." The contemplative Human scratched his chin as he remained locked in his own thoughts. Nothing was adding up, yet everything seems far too ludicrous to not be intentional. "How is he choosing the inquisitors?"

"He's not. The warriors are. They already met with the Lord and have been given their first task: finding an inquisitor who would serve as their equal. A partner of sorts."

"From our classes?" Lorrik asked. "All four of them?"

Jora offered a quick nod. "That's right."

"So that's about a one in forty chance of being picked."

"So it would seem."

"But we'll be forced to be tested alongside warriors," Lorrik stated, gaze slowly drifting lower and lower.

Jora offered a brief shrug of her shoulders. "To be fair, they'll be forced to be tested alongside inquisitors as well."

"This Lord has chosen four from the ranks of the most single-minded, prideful ranks of the Sith and forced them to interact with those from an opposing yet equally single-minded and prideful sect," Lorrik stated. "I'm having a hard time determining if this is brilliance or madness. Any word on who this new 'Overseer' slash 'Sith Lord' actually is?"

"His name is Syrosk, or so the warriors say. Word is, he's a Sith Lord who's been fighting in the war," Jora stated, emphasizing the title rather than the name.

"Well, technically, aren't all Sith but our fellow acolytes 'Lords' to us? I mean, we don't exactly carry a rank of prestige," Lorrik muttered.

When it came to the Empire's social structure, rank and title reigned supreme. Acolytes sat at the bottom of the Sith Order. Apprentices above them. Lords above them. Darths above them. But even the lowliest Sith was viewed as superior to their Force-blind brothers and sisters within the Empire. Addressing a Force-sensitive with anything other than a 'my lord' after every sentence was a good way to seal one's fate as sacrificial material.

"All I know is that to be allowed to do what he's doing here, he's definitely someone of prestige. And no matter the circumstance, a certified Sith Lord is nothing to sneeze at," Jora stated.

The other acolyte saw her point. About the sneezing. Lorrik once heard about a student who sneezed on a Sith Lord. Beheaded.

"But the war's shown no signs of ceasing anytime soon. You don't just let a Sith Lord abandon the battlefield to pursue personal ventures. This is why we have Overseers in the first place."

Once more, Jora offered a brief shrug. "Maybe Syrosk is such a great influence that him training an apprentice is more than enough to make up for his momentary absence on the warfront."

"Training an apprentice is anything but momentary," Lorrik said with a light scoff. "Taking on students, sifting through acolytes himself to find someone worthy, that takes time. Unless, of course, he plans to use the war as a testing ground instead of Korriban. But you don't take that many people looking to stab each other in the back onto an active battlefield. Maybe the reason they let him do whatever he plans to do is because he's incompetent. This is a time sink to keep him away whilst not blatantly forcing him out. And besides that, what's his motivation for all this? There are far easier ways to obtain an apprentice."

"Do you really need to know a master's motivations if it means finally getting a chance at knowledge, power, and authority?" Jora asked with a heavy sense of sarcasm.

Lorrik cracked a smile. "Ignoring a Sith's motivations is worse than ignoring a K'lor'slug's appetite."

"So you won't be seeking a position under him?" Jora asked, now the one probing the other for information.

"Oh no, I most definitely will," Lorrik stated with renewed confidence. "I'm done being just a lowly acolyte."

"Shame. I'll miss having a classmate whom I know with absolute certainty won't attack me in my sleep," Jora joked.

"For all you know, my kindness and generosity has been a well-played ruse orchestrated for selfish gain," Lorrik said with an uncharacteristically sinister tone.

"We've been in the Academy together for years now, I know you better than that. Plus, if your intention was to succeed, you've been doing a horrible job so far," Jora stated.

"You've got me there," Lorrik muttered, not noticing the obvious insult at first. "Wait, what are you saying? I have some of the highest marks in our class."

"And they're probably the only reason you haven't been exiled from the Academy," Jora bluntly stated. "When it comes to 'Sithiness', you're well behind the curve. I honestly don't know how you plan on getting the support of one of the warriors."

"Unlike most inquisitors, I know a thing or two about humility," Lorrik said with a contradicting sense of pride.

"So you'll be taking the groveling route?"

"It doesn't sound as good when you put it like that," Lorrik mumbled. "So, for all your interest towards the subject, you don't exactly sound as if you're too intent in joining this new Sith Lord."

"It all depends. If you do end up submitting to one of the warriors, the entire ordeal might prove too easy, should we have to compete."

"You wound me, Jora," Lorrik stated, feigning extreme disappointment. "Then again, you've never been much for the easy route, have you?"

"No, I guess I haven't. And neither have you," Jora said as she turned away from the acolyte's personal quarters. The female student paused just before she was out of sight. "Oh, and Lorrik… if my intention was to wound you, I would have done so long ago."

With that, Lorrik was once again left alone with his thoughts, a slight curl on his lips. The acolyte's gaze fell to the holocron that now lay near his pillow. Holding the trinket in his hand, he studied only for a moment before sliding it beneath the bed. With that, Lorrik lifted himself from his seat, eager to secure his future. He took one step toward the open halls before freezing in place, eyes growing wide.

"Really wish I had asked for names and locations."


	3. 1-02 Encounters

**Chapter Two: Encounters**

Lorrik walked the stone halls of the Sith Academy on a mission. He intended to use every skill he had picked up in his studies to find and befriend one of the warriors. What better use of the talents cultivated by years of classroom attendance than to escape even more years of classroom attendance? There was nothing left to learn from the instructors. A true master to study under was needed.

The halls were permeated with students privy to the knowledge Lorrik needed. All that remained was the process of extracting that information. Anger, pain, fear, and aggression. Intimidation, violence, coercion, and terror. None of these would work for Lorrik.

Passing by the combat training wing, Lorrik saw that the dueling rings appeared livelier than usual. Crowds gathered as two heavy-cloaked, hooded figures stood watch over the bouts, one of whom towered over the surrounding students. A scream echoed from the area as a combatant was struck on the leg by a training saber.

Lorrik kept walking. He intended to gain information by turning in one of the various favors he had earned over his stay at the Academy, none of which were held by the more belligerent students.

In the commons area, Lorrik found his man. An acolyte once out of favor with his instructor, supplying him with a written dissertation regarding the Sith Code and its significance to the various Sith Orders over the past thousand years was enough put him in Lorrik's, as well as his instructor's, good graces. After a few quick words, Lorrik possessed as much information as the other inquisitors.

Four warriors. Nesk. Kar'ai. Jresh. Isorr. The first two were the cloaked watchers in the combat hall urging inquisitors to fight for their spot. The other two were seeking their partners in the lecture hall.

A quick thank you and shared nod later, Lorrik made his way to the scholar wing of the underhalls. His target was the circular forum, a lecturing room similar to a small amphitheater, though it certainly lacked an open ceiling. The hushed murmurs of gathered of acolytes reassured Lorrik that he had reached the correct destination. Passing through the threshold, the acolyte took his first step into the broad, high-ceilinged chamber.

A small raised dais in the center of the room was occupied by a cloaked figure similar to the ones in the combat chamber. Circular rows of seats surrounded the figure on all sides, broken only by the ascending stairways leading to each of the room's entrances.

Renovated after the true Sith reclaimed the Academy from its previous owners, the lecture forum possesses some architectural innovations and departures from the other areas comprised solely of carved stone. Departures like chairs. Chairs that were mostly empty, as the gathering students opted to sit and kneel on the floor level adjacent to the speaking cloaked figure.

"How far the inquisitors have fallen," Lorrik mumbled to himself. "All it takes is hooded cloak and suddenly these people aren't acolytes anymore? It's almost as if…hrm?

Lorrik's musings were broken as he noticed the cloaked figure leaning against the wall a short distance away, next to the entrance. Of peculiar note was the fact that he seemed to be the only warrior with his hood down, face completely exposed. That, and the fact that he was a Sith Pureblood, one of the red-skinned offspring of the original Sith species that inhabited Korriban and the Dark Jedi that had conquered them.

The warrior lacked some of the more prominent features of his species. A pronounced brow and cheekbones in place of the usual boney protrusions. A pair of fleshy tendrils hung from said cheekbones and reached down to just above his jawline. A trio of similar, stubby growths extended from his chin, granting his a fleshy goatee. His skin was a deep-crimson and was accompanied by a matching set of irises. His head was topped with long black hair possessing a subtle, reddish tinge. The fibers extended and fell to his upper back in a restraining braid. The warrior listened to the proceedings below with a stern, but tranquil visage, his arms crossed and eyes closed.

The inquisitor stopped and stared, studying the Pureblood in silence. His garb placed him with the other warriors, but his positioning seemed counterintuitive to recruitment. And for a Sith expected to channel and sustain themselves with an unbridled rage, he seemed intensely calm. Lorrik didn't know whether it came naturally for his species, or if he was at ease because he had already completely his task. Regardless, he would have little more time to ponder.

"Inquisitor," the warrior calmly spoke up without breaking his stance. His voice carried a deep, smooth tone capable of dominating the senses. The Human looked around for who the Pureblood might be talking to, not realizing he and the warrior were completely alone. "You can stop looking around. If you're here about joining Lord Syrosk, you can head down and try your hand at impressing Isorr."

"Isorr, huh? That would make you Jresh… correct?" Lorrik inquired with a positive tone. The Sith broke his relaxed stance for a moment to face the acolyte with his full attention.

"Correct. Jresh Takuul. I guess it shouldn't surprise me how quickly the information spread amongst the inquisitors," Jresh stated, returning to his previously composed position.

"Well, my name is Lorrik Velash, pleasure to meet-"

"He doesn't care about names," Jresh interrupted. "All Isorr cares about is that you are knowledgeable of the Code and a strict adherent to the Sith lifestyle. Hopefully that information proves advantageous."

"What about you?" Lorrik asked, continuing his positive tone. "What do you care about?"

The Pureblood remained rigid. "Does it matter? I've informed you of the guidelines regarding the inquisitor the warrior below is seeking. You'll no doubt have a speech ready by the time you reach the bottom of the steps."

"Why should I approach him when you are right here?" Lorrik wittily asked.

"Because you know nothing about me? Take the easy route and try impressing Isorr," Jresh advised.

"Taking the easy route teaches me nothing. I am a seeker of knowledge. I won't achieve my goals by simply pretending to be some unwavering exponent of the Sith. I'm not going to throw away my principles for some shortcut towards apprenticeship."

"Principles are a short road that inevitably leads to death."

"You could say that about a lot of the paths Sith walk," Lorrik said with a chuckle. There was a heavy silence as Jresh didn't reciprocate the acolyte's jocular mood. "You never did answer my question, regarding what you care about."

"No, I didn't. And there is a reason for that," Jresh plainly stated, not even bothering to open his eyes when addressing the acolyte.

"What reason might that be?" Lorrik asked, continually goading the Pureblood. The warrior released a heavy sigh.

"Perhaps I do not wish for every inquisitor to know what I'm looking for in a partner," Jresh gruffly stated.

"Oh, good. So you haven't chosen your inquisitor yet," Lorrik said with a grin. The acolyte could see the Pureblood's cheek tendrils quivering.

"Why are you pestering me? Haven't I made it clear I'm not like the other warriors?"

"That difference is why I'm interested. I'm not going to spout Sith tenants like some groveling student, and I'm not going to act like a duel is the only way to measure talent."

"Are you not as capable with a lightsaber as your classmates? I have no use for a weakling, regardless of whatever principles you hold dear."

"I'm more than capable in combat," Lorrik heartily stated.

"Are you?" Jresh sternly asked. "Or are you simply stating whatever you feel garners you the highest chances of being picked as my partner? I don't need someone who will tell me what I want to be told. I seek someone who will challenge me at every venture. Physically and mentally. Someone who is willing to go against me, and have the same done to them. That is how we gain strength. That is how we gain knowledge. Not the mindless competition the Academy would have you believe is the true path to greatness."

Jresh finally opened his eyes, only to discover that Lorrik had vanished. "Hrmph. Moved on. Just like all the rest."

"Actually," Lorrik spoke up, on the opposite side of Jresh, "I just wanted to see if I could move around while you had your eyes closed and see if you noticed." The Pureblood looked at the Human with a raised eyebrow.

"You certainly are different from the usual fodder that have approached me."

"Two Sith, remarkably different from their peers. Sounds to me like a perfect match," Lorrik said with a smile.

"Or a horrible one," Jresh countered.

"Look, I'm sure if you just take at a look at the class rankings-"

"No need," Jresh interrupted. "I memorized the names and standings of each of the inquisitor candidates. Thankfully, you were one of the few who introduced themselves by name. I know all about your qualifications."

"So why did you bother asking me about my skills with a lightsaber?" Lorrik asked, dumbfounded.

"You are an inquisitor are you not? Your kind are the epitome of manipulation and deceit," Jresh bluntly stated.

"You've got me there. I'm no more or less manipulative than my peers… but at least I'm honest about it." Lorrik said, almost prideful of his admission. The Pureblood stared down the acolyte, studying him.

"I don't need a partner that will selfishly stab me in the back," Jresh stated. "I need a partner that will selfishly stab me in the front."

"You've got yourself a deal," Lorrik heartily replied, extended his hand for a handshake.

"What makes you think I've decided to accept you?" Jresh asked, ignoring the acolyte's hand.

"Nothing in particular," Lorrik answered, refusing to redact his hand. "Except for maybe… that you've already seen my file, that I know more about you than any of the other inquisitors do, and that we've tolerated each other's presence thus far. Oh, and I'm sure there are plenty of inquisitors who would love some of the information I've picked up regarding your search for a partner."

"Inquisitors," Jresh muttered.

"When I said I was honest about being manipulative… it wasn't a lie."

"You certainly know how to try my patience," Jresh stated as he removed himself from the wall.

As the Pureblood left the lecture room, Lorrik finally conceded to withdraw his hand. His head hung low, the inquisitor began making his way down the steps toward the lecturing warrior below.

"Lorrik!" Jresh shouted from the hallway. "Are you coming or not?"

The inquisitor froze in his tracks. As his feeling of astonishment settled, the acolyte quickly made his way back up the step and out of the forum. Catching up with the his new partner, Lorrik walked by his side, taking careful notice to match his exact pace. The two walked in tandem through the halls. If there was a destination in mind, Lorrik did not know it.

"So, is it official? I mean, are you sure you want me as your partner?" Lorrik hesitantly asked.

"Truthfully?" Jresh replied, followed by a beat. "No. It won't be official until we reconvene with our new Lord. Until then, I will entertain any applicants for the position, and you will defend yourself."

Lorrik subtly bobbed his head in understanding. "When, exactly, are we reconvening?"

"Midday," Jresh bluntly answered.

"Like, two hours from now, midday?" Lorrik stated in disbelief. "Syrosk didn't exactly give you much time to select from the classes."

"Yes, which is why I had hoped to take my time and not make any rash decisions. And yet, here I am, the first of the four to have chosen my Inquisitor."

"I'm sure it was the right decision," Lorrik assuaged.

"Do you believe in fate, Lorrik?" Jresh asked.

"Not entirely, no."

"Good," Jresh said, not pausing his advance. Lorrik listened closely for the explanation that he was sure would follow, but surprisingly found none. The two walked the halls in silence, garnering the attention of the passing students. As surreptitiously as he could, the inquisitor studied those who studied them, tabulating whether more eyes fell to him or his new partner. The majority looked to the Pureblood, but more than enough drifted toward the Human to sate his budding ego. Quickly losing track of time, the inquisitor snapped out of his daze, not realizing how far he had been following the warrior.

"So. Any particular destination in mind?" Lorrik finally spoke up.

"No. I simply wanted to see how long you would follow me in obedient silence," Jresh explained, not changing his pace. Lorrik continued to follow, but rubbed his forehead in frustration.

"I guess this sort of thing isn't going to stop anytime soon," Lorrik muttered.

"Correct," Jresh replied in his usual taciturn way.

"Would you mind testing me somewhere closer to the mess hall? I usually respond better to mind games with a full stomach," Lorrik joked.

"Very well," Jresh said. Surprised the Sith took him seriously, Lorrik couldn't help but grin. Not only did he consider getting what he wanted a small victory, but he was also getting some food, which was always a plus for him. The pair walked the halls much as they did before, but at least now they possessed some semblance of a destination.

"About those cloaks. Did the master mention anything… you know… about the inquisitors getting some?"


	4. 1-03 Meetings

**Chapter Three: Meetings**

Day one of training. Korriban. Exterior. Midday. Pretty damn hot. Eight students of the Academy stood shoulder to shoulder, awaiting the arrival of their new master. They stood in a clearing atop the peak of one of the many mountains and ridges that surrounded the Sith Academy. Wind gently brushed the orange dirt beneath their feet, revealing intricate symbols and carvings lost to time. The eight prospects found themselves standing, unknowingly, near the boundaries of an ancient ring of battle, where tests of might were held during the Golden Age of the Sith.

Surrounded by steep cliffs, the disastrous falls they entailed, and subject to the intense scolding of the Korriban sun, the students waited, eyeing the singular return path back toward the Academy. And so the eight of them stood, resolved to show not a single ounce of weakness. Each warrior beside their inquisitor, arms folded behind their backs.

Lorrik stood furthest to the right, facing the Academy. As much as the acolyte despised outdoor activity when there was a perfectly good institution to accommodate them, he did take solace in the face that he and his fellow inquisitors were garbed in the traditional, two-layered, dark gray robes. While not the most suitable clothes for the occasion, they were certainly more comfortable without the black cloaks the warriors were sporting.

Jresh stood to his partner's left, possessing the same stern face as before. At least this time he seemed to possess less notions of impatience and irritation than he did when he was scouting the Academy forum for an inquisitor. Subtle hints did suggest that the Sith did miss the act of leaning against a wall. But given the warrior's nature, he most likely preferred the proving task of standing under the sun for an indeterminate amount of time.

Arlia was the inquisitor on Jresh's other side. A female Twi'lek, her skin was a muted violet, free of any secondary markings. Instead, her lekku, that reached her mid-back, were wrapped in a dark cloth that encircled the twin head-tails from tip to base, culminating in a headband. Arlia belonged to a similar class as Lorrik's, and possessed similar aptitude scores. Ever ambitious, she was a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. And as an attractive Twi'lek woman, there were few who would deny her. But woe to the man who suggested her robes could stand to bare more midriff.

Isorr was the warrior next to her. His hood since lowered, it could be seen that the lecturer from the forum before was in fact a male Zabrak, possessing a deep brown skin tone. Hairless, his head was instead topped with a crown a stubby horns, and his face was marked by black, thin-lined tattoos he received early in his life. An ardent follower of the teachings of the Sith, a ruthless fighter, and an equally intelligent thinker. It is unknown if he chose Arlia as his companion in spite of, or because of her manipulative nature.

Vurt was the next inquisitor. A male Nikto, he stood out from the others of his class in both looks and demeanor. His leathery skin was of a red-orange hue, and he lacked a traditional nose, instead bearing only a flat membrane of flesh between his eyes and mouth. Adjacent to each eye, three tiny horns jutted outward, accompanied by a similar pair of horns on his chin, and yet another at the base of his ridged forehead. Though somewhat muffled by his robes, a set of small organic respiratory tubes could be seen on both sides of his neck. Cold and brutal, he earned the reputation of a brutal sadist in classes he didn't even belong to.

Nesk was Vurt's partner, the towering cloaked warrior from before, now revealed to be a sandy-brown scaled Trandoshan male. Without the swarm of potential students crowding him, it could be seen that his robes ended their wrap just below the acolyte's knees, allowing his clawed feet to bare themselves against the Korriban surface. A natural warrior, known for his fiery temper. Brash, combative, and a credit to his species, if not for the fact that he has all but replaced any semblance of Trandoshan culture with that of the Sith.

Ryloh was the male Twi'lek almost basking in the Trandoshan's shadow. His skin possessed a light blue hue and his lekku were adorned with natural dark blue markings. An astute inquisitor, and a capable fighter, Ryloh was talented, but never possessed the raw determination to rise above his peers. Always willing to take the distanced route, rather the direct approach. His classmates could never decide whether he was simply a coward, or a brilliant calculator, always knowing the perfect way to hide his handsome face from a crowd. Yet something made him willing to fight his way into companionship of a warrior.

Kar'ai was that warrior, and a female Rattataki. Hairless, her pale white skin bared a series of intricate markings. Black cultural tattoos marked the entirety of her face and continued down to her body. Long lines of barbed tribal circles and barbed patterns wrapped around her torso and limbs, all hidden beneath her student robes. Aggressive and always looking forward to the thrill of battle. She believed there wasn't a single conflict or quarrel that could not be decided by way of a duel. One of the top swordswomen in her class, she found weakness and quickly eliminated it.

"You know, now that you mention it, I'm kind of glad I don't have to wear the cloak," Lorrik said, breaking the silence.

"What are you talking about? No one mentioned anything," Jresh sternly replied.

"Oh, you know, just making conversation," Lorrik stated.

"Jresh, do try and keep your Human under control," Isorr advised with a deep voice. Lorrik leaned forward from his far right position and examined the lineup before returning to his straight-standing stance.

"Hmm. It seems I am the only Human here. Not very Imperial of us," Lorrik said to himself, before taking another look at the gathered students. "It would also seem that we are the only pair with any hair on their scalps so… go team. That's one-zero. We're already in the lead."

"You certainly win the award for most annoying student," Arlia stated, her sensuous voice riddled with annoyance.

"A victory's a victory. That's two-zero," Lorrik countered.

"Do be quiet, I'd like to go one night without worrying about you being murdered in your sleep," Jresh stated, his tone more tired than angry.

"I think we'll be okay," Lorrik said. "The only one I think we have to worry about is the Trandoshan. And so long as he doesn't get snarly I think we should-"

"Make quiet, soft thing!" Nesk snarled in a hissy, debased form of Basic, not breaking his stance. The Human complied.

"If you all are finished… perhaps we can begin in earnest," a mysterious voice spoke up from behind the lineup. The acolytes turned around to find their new master standing on the edge of the cliff, looking out across the vista with his back toward his students. The alien humanoid possessed a dark cloak much as the warriors did, hood lowered, but too far away for any discernible details to be seen. Though now turned around, no student dared approach the Sith Lord further without expressed permission. They did however, make passing glances to the surrounding area, looking for methods the Lord might have used to get behind them. They saw none.

The dark figure turn and walked toward his students revealing the armored garb beneath his open cloak. Chest plate, greaves, heavy boots and gauntlets, all there. Black plating, with red highlights, it was the outfit of a not just a warrior, but a soldier. Spots and lines of gray detailed the blaster marks and saber strikes endured during the Great War. But even with all the armor, the Lord did not cover his face.

Syrosk now stood only a few meters from his students. The alien male was of a species unfamiliar to Imperials and Sith. His entire visage was comprise of harsh features. His orange skin was rough and leathery, burdened by the additional wear and tear wrought though battle. Dual down-curved horns emerged from his cranium. Doubling the width of his head, they came down to a point under his chin, hovering a short distance in front of his chest. He stared down his students with a harsh visage.

"So these are the four chosen. I pray that you had not chosen them as mere trophies or pets. They will be your other half for your discernible future. Vital to your continued tutelage under myself," Syrosk began, in a drawn out, raspy voice. The Sith Lord began pacing between the ends of the acolyte line up as he continued his speech.

"From this day forth, your training begins. You are my students. I am your master. However, do not be mistaken. You are not my apprentices. No. Not yet. Apprenticeship must be earned. From this day forth, you all are null. Whatever statistics, accomplishments, and feats you have attained or performed during your miserable attendance of this Academy is hereby forgotten and rendered inert."

"I care not how high your class scores were. How many victories you obtained in your various practice bouts. How many arbitrary measurements of your inane actions that you believed to make you something more than the rest of the filth occupying this school. You were nothing. You are nothing. And from nothing I will create something of greatness. I will forge a greater Sith from the excuse for raw materials you call talent. And should the fires burned too hot, too bright. Should you begin to crack, and warp. I will toss you into the garbage and spit on the disgrace who bothered to waste my time."

"Once you have proven yourself… then maybe you will have earned the right to call yourself my apprentice. Earned the right to take up a lightsaber. Earned the right to leave this Academy once and for all and prove your worth to the galaxy. If you are lucky, you might earn the privilege to call yourself my apprentice in as little as one year." Making his way to the left flank of the lineup he addressed each acolyte, one by one. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, m'Lord," Kar'ai answered with a bow of her head.

"Yes, my Lord," Ryloh echoed.

"Yess, Masster," Nesk replied.

Vurt offered a brief, but dutiful nod.

"Yes, Lord Syrosk," Isorr declared.

"Of course, Master," Arlia followed.

"Aye, Lord Syrosk," Jresh stated.

"Did you mean a standard year or a Korriban year?" Lorrik asked. Suddenly the acolyte felt sixteen eyes figuratively searing his flesh. Though it certainly was possible one pair was literally doing so. "I mean… Yes, Lord Master Syrosk."

The Sith Lord removed himself from the stare down and returned to his position in front of the lineup's center. Syrosk closed his eyes and took a deep breath as the students looked onward in anticipation. A short exhale later and the alien was ready to continue.

"As my students you have already proven yourselves as better than those who would surround you not hours ago. Though you are still worth nothing in my eyes, the other acolytes are worth even less. You have all received new private quarters to accommodate your new status of 'nothing'. Gather your things and talk to the quartermaster. He will provide you each with the keys to your new dwellings. Also speak with the weapons master. You will each receive a personal training saber. You are to treat it as a lightsaber, having it with you at all times and knowing that the consequences for losing it are just as dire. Know that me having provided you with this much means that your life is now worth less than your possessions. I have but a single task to give you all, then you are dismissed until we reconvene at this exact spot, at this exact time tomorrow. Find whatever trinket or valuable you hold most dear, and give it to your companion, symbolizing the completed bond of your new partnership. Return tomorrow with your shared items. Dismissed," Syrosk ended, turning his back toward his students and staring toward the distant horizon in silence."

Each of the acolytes slowly bowed their heads toward their new master, before turning back toward the return patch down the mountain. The eight students made their way back to the Academy in near silence.

Jresh passed his gaze over his new partner before returned it to the path ahead. "Lorrik, do try to not get Force-choked by our new Lord.

"Yes, if I hear the Lord brutally killed you, I'd like the story to be one of mystery and intrigue, not your inability to hold your tongue," Arlia offered.

"Inability to hold my tongue? What about you? We have certainly shared a conversation or two. We keep talking like this and your partner might think were conspiring against him," Lorrik joked.

"No offense Jresh, but I doubt your partner is even capable of conspiracy," Isorr coldly stated.

The Human's face scrunched as he offered a quick glare toward the Zabrak. "You know, I'm right here. I'd rather not have disparaging remarks filtered through Jresh."

"Pay them no attention, Lorrik. They will see the true nature of their egregious underestimations in time," Jresh stated.

"That's showing your Sith pride," Lorrik said with a clenched fist. The eight continued to walk along the narrow and winding path back toward the Academy halls. "You know, it's going to be awkward making the entire trip back in one large group like this."


	5. 1-04 Provisions

**Chapter Four: Provisions**

The eight acolytes arrived at the quartermaster's desk at roughly the same time. And it was indeed awkward. Rather than wait around looking like a fool, the Trandoshan pushed past the group, receiving the quartermaster's attention with his immense size.

"It has items from Lord Syrosk," Nesk brokenly informed the lulled Human behind the counter. The quartermaster remained silent, slowly passing his dulled gaze over each individual acolyte.

"You belong to Syrosk? All eight of you?" the quartermaster slowly asked. He found his answer with the acolytes' collective nods. "Hmm. Let's see…"

The quartermaster drifted off as he ducked beneath the counter slowly retrieving a small handheld datapad.

"Your… master… has provided the following provisions," the quartermaster said in an even more pacified tone than before, reading from the electronic tablet. "A new place of residence in one of the Saarai suites. A new datapad, containing the access codes to said residence and a redeeming voucher for a personal training saber. Within your quarters, you will find a new set of robes that will serve as your uniform."

Returning to the depths below the desk, he gathered eight identical, palm-sized datapads, and arranged them on the countertop in four stacks of two.

"Nesk, Vurt. These two are yours," the quartermaster stated, pointing toward the far stack without peeling his eyes from his personal datapad. The two acolytes quickly snatched the devices and began awkwardly manipulating them with their un-dexterous clawed digits.

"Kar'ai, Ryloh. The next set belongs to you."

As the next two went to pick up their devices, Nesk could be heard growling at his. The trouble lied in Nesk and Vurt looking at the information regarding their new accommodations. Both datapads displayed the same room number. The couples were officially roommates.

"Explain meaning of thiss!" Nesk snarled.

"I know very little regarding your master's intentions, but the Saarai suites are very large with multiple beds. To give one to a single occupant would be irresponsible," the quartermaster stated, in as condescendingly a way possible.

"What's the matter Nesky? Buyer's remorse?" Kar'ai joked. As the Rattataki and blue Twi'lek retrieved their datapads, they showed no evidence of dampened spirits by the news.

"Isorr, Arlia. You're next," the quartermaster continued. Isorr was keeping his cool, showing neither positive of negative feelings toward the prospect of a roommate. Arlia also showed no change, bearing the same haughty expression as always. Wasting no time, the Zabrak beckoned his companion to follow and they made their way toward the new quarters.

"Jresh, Lorrik. The last two are yours," the quartermaster stated. Picking up the devices, the duo wasted no time heading for their objective.

"You all are worth nothing! Here's a bunch of free stuff!" Lorrik said to himself in his best Syrosk impersonation. "Certainly has a strange way of doing things. I mean, usually Overseers use the first day to run their students through the gauntlet, so to speak. Still, can't wait to see the new accommodations."

"We should make our way toward the weapons master first," Jresh calmly stated. "The last thing we want is to be without a weapon after the master has given us all a free day."

"What? Those six upstanding Sith? You'd think they'd try and establish their dominance this early in the training?" Lorrik asked, oozing with sarcasm.

"The warriors alone are bad enough, but with the inquisitors whispering in their ears…"

"Should I be whispering in your ears?"

"No. Anything that needs to be said to me can be said as such that everyone can hear it," Jresh plainly stated.

Lorrik cracked a smile. "You're going to regret saying that."

The two made their way to the combat wing of the Academy. With the absence of the recruiting warriors, the student occupation levels died down back to normal. There were still duels to be had, but only amongst the riff-raff that warranted little to no observation by their peers. The weapons master operated behind an enclosed desk, much as the quartermaster had, located next to the main combat area for students.

The arena was little more than a large, rectangular room with floor markings designating different sorts dueling rings for acolytes who had requisitioned the space and a training saber from the weapons master. One group managed to catch the eye of the traveling duo, an instructor and a class of ten or so warriors who were currently missing one of their fellows. Two acolytes were battling it out within the borderless ring, while their instructor berated their technique from the sidelines.

As Jresh and Lorrik approached the weapons master's counter, they noticed a familiar face on the Human tending the Sith armory. Specifically a face resembling the one they had just seen not a few moments ago on the quartermaster. In truth, the two were brothers. Family wasn't something you saw often under the Sith. Perhaps doctrine never truly covered who was truly qualified to manage the storing and distribution of supplies.

Placing their brand new datapads on the counter, the weapons master looked at the two acolytes in silence, before taking a look at the devices' screens. A final glance towards the students, and the Human drifted off into the hidden back room. Upon his return, he clutched a training saber in each hand.

Deactivated, the device was little more intricate than a silver and gold metallic pole with a hilt. Closer inspection revealed four thin, rectangular emitters spanning the length of the 'blade'. When activated, they produced a white glow from the saber's energy producing 'edges'. Not hot enough to slice through anything an acolyte might wish to slice through, but the emitters caused enough pain from burns to teach the students the harsh reality of failure. And its material made it a more than capable bludgeoning instrument.

The two acolytes took their weapons and held them in their hands, knowing that for once they were never going to have to return them. A single hook hung out from the saber's cross-guard, allowing easy attachment to one's belt. The weapons bonded easily enough with the gray acolyte robes, but the warrior's cloak was meant for concealing flesh and an actual lightsaber, not a full length blade.

Jresh removed his cumbersome black cloak without hesitance. Only needed for the initial recruitment phase, Syrosk cared not if he wore it after the meeting today. As such, the warrior thought to rid himself of the frivolous garment. He folded the cloak and held it within his arms, looking around for but a moment before setting off. Jresh approached the instructor watching over the dueling students not too far away.

Lorrik was outside of listening distance, but when Jresh returned, cloak-less, he could see the instructor holding up the garment in the distance, promising it to the last duelist standing. Reunited, the similarly dressed pair acolytes could now make their way throughout the Academy without being caught without a weapon.

"Lorrik," Jresh began with his usual stern tone. The Human acolyte froze in place, unaware what would follow. The Pureblood could not help but raise an eyebrow at his wide-eyed partner. "Will you be okay gathering and moving your possessions to the new quarters?"

"Oh, uh, sure. No problem," Lorrik stated with surprise. Jresh respectfully bowed his head and made his way toward the warrior quarters to pack his things. For once, Lorrik didn't have a joke to tell. Rather, he did have one, but made the conscious decision to keep it to himself.

Lorrik made his way back to his personal inlet amongst the inquisitor quarters, and began rummaging through his rather limited possessions. He double checked the loose drawers of his desk and under the bed for any important pieces he may have left there during his previous studies. Nothing of importance except for his fake holocron. Only the contents of the locked footlocker at the end of the bed held anything of significance.

Kneeling in front of his bed, the acolyte punched a code into the container's electronic keypad. Opening the lid only enough to allow sufficient amounts of light to reveal the locker's innards, Lorrik quickly examined the container's interior for any missing materials. A few extra sets of acolyte robes took up half of the container's space.

The other half was occupied by a large, folding, dual-screened datapad, and a grand assortment of insert-able datacards. Opening the lid just enough, the acolyte tossed the pyramid-shaped paperweight amidst his other belongings. His attention so focus on his possessions, Lorrik did not notice the approach of one of his former inquisitor classmates. He didn't even notice the subtle tug as his training saber became unhooked from his belt.

"So. Lorrik. I hear you've finally become an apprentice. That's a surprise," the male inquisitor spoke up, examining the weapon in his hand behind Lorrik's back.

"Ornell," Lorrik muttered as he shut the footlocker closed. Looking over his shoulder, Lorrik found the other acolyte leaning against the wall a short distance away, rotating the training saber in his hand. Familiar slicked back blonde hair. Familiar snidely face.

Ornell stood over the kneeling inquisitor, lips curled into a sharp smirk. "What I don't understand is, why would they just give you a training lightsaber like the rest of us lowly acolytes? And dressed like us too? Tsk tsk."

"Maybe it's because I'm still technically an acolyte," Lorrik state as he lifted himself from the floor. "Maybe it's because even if I were an apprentice, one doesn't just obtain their lightsaber in their first three hours. Maybe it's because in the end it doesn't come down to weapons and clothes, but knowledge and skill. Now give me back by saber, I must be leaving." As he spoke, his eyes grew increasingly sharp, and his words increasingly hostile.

"Surely an acolyte of your caliber should be able to take back their saber, I mean you said it yourself right? It doesn't come down to weapons, only knowledge and skill," Ornell scornfully stated. "So go ahead. Knowledge and skill your way out of this."

"I won't validate your petty jealousies Ornell," Lorrik countered. "You've always been envious of my talent, and now you just can't handle the fact that my ascension has proven every inkling in the back of your mind that ever said I was better than you."

"This proves nothing," Ornell said with a snarl. "Have you heard the rumors of your new master? The Sith Lord from the Great War? Why do you think he's returned here? Now? To take on students no less? The other Lords constantly question his authority. Some even say the war broke him. A shell of a Sith. Driven insane by his inability to cope with the conflict."

"Ornell, if your wish is to drive me to anger, you surely must realize that insulting a man I only met hours ago is not the proper procedure," Lorrik calmly stated.

"Oh, then what about the Pureblood that you seemed inseparable from for such a time?" Ornell asked. "To think an inquisitor sold himself out so easily to one of the brutes of the Academy. Lorrik. Apprentice to a false master. Slave to a mindless warrior."

Lorrik remained silent for a beat. "That warrior, Jresh, in the few hours I have spent in his company, has already proven himself to be greater than anything our class, or any other class, could possibly muster. He has proven himself. As have I."

"So you've gone soft for the swordsman," Ornell stated as he readied the training saber in his right hand.

Lorrik stood silently, his head hung low. The other acolyte grew dismayed at the subdued reaction he was only able to get out of Lorrik. A flick of the switch later and the weapon ignited, energy bands lighting up. Ornell readied another insult, but it would not be heard that day.

Blue energy crackled around Lorrik's right hand, arcing from fingertip to fingertip. Ornell only had time to raise a single eyebrow before the other inquisitor lunged at him. Lorrik's left hand gripped the 'blade' of the training lightsaber. In shock, Ornell did not even notice the other charge straight for his face. Lorrik's right hand surged forward, gripping the other inquisitor's mouth and jaws.

Ornell watched with wide eyes as arcane energies crackled beneath his nose. With a surge of light, the lightning transferred from Lorrik's hand to his enemy's face. The target's body convulsed as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Retracting his hand, Lorrik watched the inquisitor slump to the ground, a gentle stream of smoke drifting outwards from his open maw.

Lorrik looked to his palms, each searing with pain from the separate burns he endured. Gently, he retrieved his saber from his unconscious foe, deactivated it, and carefully reattached it to his belt.

"Not quite Force lightning, but enough to put you in your place," Lorrik addressed the unconscious inquisitor. "Have a nice nap."

Lorrik returned to his footlocker and pulled out an extendable handle from the container's side face. He tried gripping the handle with his saber-burnt hand, but it proved too painful. Gripping it with his Force-burnt hand was only slightly less excruciating, but he would have to endure.

Lifting the locker by the handle, Lorrik activated the micro-repulsors implanted in the container's base. Allowing for ease of transportation in the absence of wheels, the footlocker's lower end hovered a few centimeters from the ground. Giving his fallen foe a quick kick, Lorrik was finally ready to make his way toward his new quarters.


	6. 1-05 Accomodations

**Chapter Five: Accommodations**

Lorrik managed to make his way to the new residence. The Saarai suites were housed in a completely different wing of the Academy than the students had previously studied. In fact it was in a wing the acolytes were rarely permitted to enter. Built since the reclamation of Korriban and its Academy by the true Sith, it was all new architecture featuring the most innovation you could find on the planet outside of the large planetary defense systems installed outside the borders of the school. High ceilings and wide halls replaced cramped pathways.

Cool, dark metals replaced carved stone. Lights of red, purple, and white lined the surfaces that embraced the advent of electronics and technology. Beautiful tile, smooth as the most luxurious starship deck, replaced the lackluster rock that once graced the undersides of the acolytes' boots.

The biggest difference lied in the area's general occupants. Instead of droves of gray acolytes, actual Imperial officers on Academy business bustled across the halls. A cloaked figure would emerge from a shadow only to disappear once again in another. The traveling inquisitor actually saw an honest to goodness red energy field blocking a doorway. Dragging his locker full of possessions, taking in the sights, Lorrik finally realized that he had finally moved up. In status and in literal terms. He had to ascend a stairway to find his new quarters.

Lorrik's journey ended in a hallway possessing doors to rooms that seemed separated by vast amounts of space. He did not even need to look at his datapad to see which room was his, as Jresh leaning against the wall near one of the doors was enough of a hint.

"Is this it?" Lorrik asked, his attention focused on the immense door rather than his patiently waiting companion.

"Correct, I wanted to wait until you were here before venturing in," Jresh stated.

The inquisitor contemplated what possible reasons his partner could have had for the stay of entrance. The bigger question on his mind, however, dealt with Jresh's lack of belongings. The only things in his possession were the robes on his back and the training saber at his side.

"Didn't you pack your things?" Lorrik asked.

The warrior lightly shook his head. "This is the start of a new life. All of my belongings were those of a lowly acolyte, no longer needed. I gave away anything of significance and left everything else where it was." Removing himself from the wall, Jresh took note the luggage Lorrik had been dragging. "What did you bring?"

"The datapad and info cards I use for recreational study," Lorrik answered. "Tomes of knowledge. Techniques and practices of various Sith arts. Anything regarding Sith Sorcery that I was able to procure over the years. That and some spare robes to keep things from rattling around in there."

Jresh offered a quick, singular nod. "Well, I will not fault you for keeping such things."

Relieved that his partner approved of his belongings, Lorrik approached the door. Stopping just short of the apartment's control panel, the inquisitor looked at the similar doors further down the hallway.

"These rooms. Do you know if any belong to the other students?" Lorrik asked.

Jresh offered another quick nod. "Yes, I saw the others enter their respective rooms a short while ago. It seems our master has provided us all with adjacent residences. One to our left, and two across from us."

"Hmm. First thing I'm doing inside ours is checking for air vents," Lorrik said as he read the door code from his new datapad. The immense door rose into its ceiling recess, revealing the splendorous dwelling that waited behind its boundaries.

The word lavish immediately came to mind. Ornately designed tile and wall panels adorned with fantastically woven rugs and draperies. The entrance opened into a large common room, containing a meditation area and a set of desks. To the left, a kitchen and dining area. To the right, two bedrooms. Lorrik rushed into the main room with excitement, setting his baggage beside one of the desks before storming into each of the rooms. Jresh sauntered into the living room, even he unable to repress his look of surprise.

"Can you believe it? Our own rooms! Within our own quarters! Restrooms that aren't fifty meters away from the bed!" Lorrik cheered as he dashed from one of the bedrooms.

Maintaining his calm, the warrior patiently surveyed the room, passing his gaze over the various amenities. "We should find everything there is two of, and decide which belongs to whom."

"Look! A kitchen!" Lorrik shouted, ignoring his partner's recommendation.

Jresh watched as the inquisitor darted into the quaint kitchen area, an overjoyed expression upon the Human's face. "Lorrik, please calm yourself."

"I'm sorry, but we never saw anything like this back in the inquisitors' hall," Lorrik stated. His eyes now set towards discovering the chilled mysteries resting within the confines of the kitchen's conservator, the inquisitor lost his grip on his short-term memory. As Lorrik eagerly clutched the tall icebox's handle with his right hand, he let out an awful yelp.

"What was that about?" Jresh asked, recovering from the assault that just beset his ears.

Lorrik returned to the main room, clutching his injured hand with his slightly less injured hand. "Minor burns, nothing to worry about."

Jresh's eyes widened for a brief moment before settling back to their normal state. "You burned your hand on a conservator? Syrosk has laid quite the devious trap."

"No. These were from earlier. Had a quick run in with a petty acolyte back in my old quarters. Took my training saber, so I had to use these," Lorrik explained showing his palms. "Burnt one with the saber, burnt the other with a Force technique."

"Defended yourself against an armed opponent whilst you yourself were unarmed, did you? Good work," Jresh offered, the smallest touch of warmth shining through his stoicism. Lorrik could not help but crack a smile. "Now I can forestall the duel I had planned to gauge your abilities."

Suddenly, Lorrik's smile faded.

"Are you done shouting yet?" a female's voice sounded off from beyond the residence's walls. It was that of Arlia in the next suite over.

Staring toward the bedrooms, Lorrik began gently scratching his chin. "Walls must be pretty thin if we can hear each other from here. Oh well. At least those two are our neighbors instead of the Lizard and Horn-face."

"Horn-face isn't the Zabrak?" Jresh asked.

"No, the Nikto." Lorrik answered.

The Pureblood offered a subtle arch of his brow. "Perhaps you should put a little more thought into your nicknames, then."

"Whatever you say, Whiskers," Lorrik warmly replied . Jresh offered only a vacant stare. "Now you. Think of one for me."

"I don't know…"

"It's okay. I give you permission to make fun of my species."

"No, I meant that we don't really resort to calling Humans derogatory names. You're usually so unremarkable that we just let you belittle yourselves via your actions," Jresh stated with an eerily positive tone.

"Funny," Lorrik said, deadpan. "Especially coming from someone whose probably got plenty of Human blood in his ancestry."

The Pureblood offered a quick shrug. "I am not entirely without humor or humility."

"Considering we are of the two species that make up the majority of the Imperial populace, a little humility wouldn't hurt. Well, how about we divide up the amenities?" Lorrik asked, jutting his thumb toward the desks along the back wall. Picking his luggage up from the floor, the inquisitor set it atop the left desk, closest to the kitchen area. "I'll take this one."

"Fine by me," Jresh stated.

"Left desk, so I guess I'll take the left bedroom as well. Keeps things even," Lorrik said, pointing to the room closest to the back wall.

As the inquisitor lowered his hand, something caught his eye on the wall between the two bedrooms. An unassuming, yet substantially large, trunk rested on the floor. Twitching his head toward the container, Lorrik beckoned his companion to take a look with him. Containing no lock, all it required was a simple lift of the lid.

And lifted the lid was. A barely audible squeak emanated from Lorrik as he recognized the prizes inside. Robes. New outfits relevant to a new status. The black garments were quickly retrieved and studied by the two acolytes.

For the warrior, black with red trim. For the inquisitor, black with purple trim. By all accounts, the two outfits appeared relatively the same. Tight fitting robes, not dissimilar from his previous uniform, covered the torso and legs. The material, however, was much more resilient, but no less flexible, and utterly capable of conforming to any humanoid shape the Academy would harbor in its students.

The gloves and boots accompanying the robes were a fine departure. Pulled over the underlying garb, the accessories possessed moderate armoring, with disjointed plates providing ample protection. To top it all off, a coat to accentuate the outer layer. It was no cloak, with its sleeves ending at the elbow and tail bottoming out at the knees, but its neck went straight into a familiar hood. The outfit was finished with a sash to serve as the belt, to be used to bind the coat closed if so desired. Every fold or edge of cloth usually came with an adornment of colored trim.

Lorrik laid his new attire out on the floor, lining up the various garments as they would appear in relation to each other. Jresh, meanwhile, simply moves the folded clothes and accessories from the trunk to beside his bedroom entrance. The inquisitor gawked at his laid out attire, mouth agape in astonishment. For the first time, truly speechless. It didn't last, however.

"He can say we're not his apprentices yet all he wants, but these are not the clothes of an acolyte," Lorrik stated. "I'm going to go try them on."

The inquisitor was about to bend down to collect his new clothes, but suddenly rose as if stuck by realization. Rushing over to his own footlocker, the inquisitor quickly punched in the code to unlock it. Rooting around his belongings, the Human returned a moment later holding a trinket in his hand. The light caught the red pyramid in a such a way to aggrandize its appearance.

"You have a holocron?" Jresh asked, showing the first hint of genuine surprise Lorrik had ever seen from him. The inquisitor was tempted to play a quick game with his companion, but decided it was a time for honesty.

"No, it's actually just a souvenir I picked up," Lorrik stated, tapping the trinket's surface with his finger, eliciting an sharp clink. "But, hey, I was thinking. You remember the task Lord Syrosk gave us?"

"Are you saying that fake holocron is something you hold dear?" Jresh asked.

"Well, it may not be worth anything really, but to me it represents my quest for knowledge. It's one of the few things I've got, so I figure it'd be the best," Lorrik said, somewhat abashedly.

"I applaud you for picking the object with sentimental value over your properties that possess actual worth," Jresh stated. "If those datacards contain the types of information I assume they do, don't let someone take them away from you. Not me. Not anybody."

"Well considering those are the only things I own, it wasn't much of a choice," Lorrik plainly said. The inquisitor tilted his head as a new thought entered it. "Wait a sec. If you left all your belongings behind, you don't have anything to give me do you?"

The Pureblood remained rigid, stoic, as he gazed upon his inquisitive partner. "I guess not."

"That was part of the reason you did it, right?" Lorrik asked, seeking to confirm his suspicions.

"Correct. While I have nothing physical to give you, I hope you realize you have my respect and trust for the time being," Jresh stated. "As for the task, I have nothing to give you, so you will have nothing to present to our master, and that is how it will have to be."

"Now that you think about it, Sith training and all, that's probably the way to go about it," Lorrik said, looking dearly at the holocron in his hand. After a deep breath, the inquisitor tossed the trinket to his partner. "Oh well. At least this way, one of us will be correct. If one half of the team must succeed, it may as well be you."

As the room fell quiet, Lorrik gathered his belongings and relocated to his new bedroom. Jresh stood in silence for but a moment before retreated to his bedroom as well, new robes in tow. Passing though the automatic door, the warrior partially understood the excitement Lorrik possessed. The room was a thing of luxury, at least for anyone who had spent numerous years as a lowly acolyte. A full-sized bed, covered with ornately designed sheets, softer than anything the warrior had ever touched in his recent life.

To the left of the room's entrance, a closet nearly stretching the entirety of the wall's length. To the right, the chamber's private bathroom, containing a tub, refresher, and additional standing-glass shower. The black tiles, wall panels, and equipment of the room further served the quarter's darkened aesthetic. Placing his new set of robes in the proper recess, Jresh returned to the suite's main room.

In the center of the common room, the open area between the wall near the entrance and the far wall occupied by desks, there rest a single circular rug. Magnificent in size and decoration, the dark mat bore countless Sith sigils and patterns in bright red. Standing in its center, Jresh couldn't help but feel odd. It prompted equal parts peace and chaos. Provoked and invoked thought.

Now kneeling, the warrior unhooked the training saber from his belt and laid it in front of him. After a pause, he also placed the gifted holocron before him as well. On his knees, Jresh neatly folded his hands upon his lap and closed his eyes. Ignoring what sounded like a faucet from Lorrik's room, the Pureblood became rapt in meditation. Time slowed in the meditator's mind and his surroundings washed away. Alone, in an empty realm, Jresh was at peace.

After a quick shower, Lorrik felt the cleanest he had been in quite some time. Rejuvenated, the inquisitor promptly began dressing himself with his new robes. More complex that he had originally foreseen, the entire process proved to be rather time consuming, but Lorrik would not stop until his clothes were perfectly set.

The underlying robes felt awkward as the inquisitor adorned them using the same technique as his regular acolyte robes. Realizing different folds in different directions were needed, he eventually reached a point where they felt flawless. Next came the coat. No buttons or fasteners meant it had to be worn completely open, or secured by the provided sash. Coat on, hood up, and belt applied. The opening on the coat appeared as an upside-down teardrop, with the interior trim rounding around the wearer's face and tapering toward a point behind the sash, beneath which the coat continued to the knees.

The gloves and boots possessed the most weight to them. The material was thick, but not thick enough to inherently limit the wearer's dexterity. The back of the hand was protected by a black armored plate covering the area between the knuckles and the wrist. The glove continued close to the elbow, where belted fasteners on the forearm could secure the loose material, keeping the gloves from slipping off.

The boots slipped on easily enough, becoming snug only after the attached buckles were manipulated to remove the slack. More plates covered the boots' toes and shins. The shin guards extended past the actual boot material, protecting the wearer's knees. Suited up, the inquisitor moved awkwardly as he got used to the additional weight at the end of his limbs.

"What do you think?" Lorrik asked, emerging from his quarters. As the inquisitor awaited a response, he saw his kneeling companion take a deep breath. In front of the meditating Sith, a training sabre hovered completely vertical, with an upside down holocron balancing on the upper tip. Slowly opening his eyes, the warrior brought the floating objects to a rest on the ground before him.

When Jresh finally turned toward his companion, he could see him frozen in front of the doorway, striking a pose. The inquisitor was turned to his side, with hands raised like claws, mentally prepared to unleash a torrent of Force energy.

Jresh slowly looked up and down his partner's posed figure. "'What do I think?' You are definitely going to have to be more specific."


	7. 1-06 Tests

**Chapter Six: Tests**

Day two of training. Korriban. Exterior. Midday. Just as hot as the day before. Once more the eight students of Lord Syrosk found themselves upon one of Korriban's local peaks. This time however, they each wore the robes that had been gifted to them, with their training sabers at their sides. Four warriors in black and red. Four inquisitors in black and purple.

Going from one set of uniforms to two only took several years, but the students were optimistic that apprenticeship would spell an even greater increase in individuality. Though it was hard for one of the students to not stand out from his peers. The relatively one-size-fits-all uniforms apparently didn't for the Trandoshan. Sans boots and gloves entirely, sleeves rolled up, and his outer coat worn completely open, his clothing possessed equal parts too loose and too tight.

The eight students stood side by side in the same formation and order as the day before. This time, however, they waited facing forward, toward the cliff's edge hoping to catch their master's arrival should he use the same technique as the day before.

"You know, now that you mention it, the black clothes and hood don't seem much hotter than the regular acolyte robes," Lorrik stated, once again breaking the silence. "I guess it has to do with frame of mind more than anything. Or maybe the materials-"

"Not this again," Jresh muttered.

"Honestly, there are Academy instructors who talk less than you," Arlia said with a hint of animosity. Lorrik leaned forward to issue a harsh squint at his verbal attacker, prompting a grin from the haughty Twi'lek. "If you think staring at me is going to accomplish anything… well, you wouldn't be the first, but you'd be just as wrong."

"There's a different between the idle gawkers disrobing you with their eyes and someone staring down his opponent," Lorrik stated, still leaning forward.

"If you think you can affect my well-being with a harsh gaze, you've been sorely misled," Arlia taunted.

Lorrik let out a light chuckle before returning to his regular standing position. "Give it time."

"Time," a raspy voice arose from behind the students, "is not something that should be readily given."

Turning around, the acolytes discovered the Sith Lord standing only a few meters away. Once again he had managed to approach the mountain peak in silence.

"No… no… go back to the way you were facing," Syrosk said as he circumvented the lineup of students. The acolytes complied, but at a slow enough pace that they could still watch their master's every move around them.

The Sith Lord wore the same suit of armor beset by a heavy cloak as the day before. His hands folded behind his back, hidden beneath his sleeves, Syrosk slowly sauntered in front of the students before coming to a stop toward their median. His eyes drifted from acolyte to acolyte, as if studying them.

"Let's see, since we started on the left last time," Syrosk began, "it only makes sense that, today, we start on the left side again."

The students were having trouble in masking their confusion regarding their new master's eccentricities.

"Your task was to give your companion something of importance, and bring your received items here," Syrosk stated as he made his way toward the edge of the lineup.

Once again he found himself in front of Kar'ai. Without words, the Sith Lord prompted the Rattataki to present her item. As the first to proceed, she was not entirely sure what the Lord was expecting, but her pride would not permit her to ask questions of him. Instead, she retrieved a simple silver locket from her pocket and placed in her raised palms for her master's scrutiny whilst her head lay bowed. The size and shape of a large coin, though much thicker, the locket sans chain opened to reveal a portrait of Ryloh. The Sith Lord leaned forward slightly to examine the piece, but not actually touch it.

"Hmm, a locket bearing your partner's image. Shows a genuine amount of care for the gift recipient, while also managing to keep the item fundamentally about the gift giver. Selfishly selfless," Syrosk rasped. "Material and roughly cut photograph suggest it was a spur of the moment creation in response to the task given, not something held on to for years. Still, a picture in lieu of hologram indicates a taste for antiquity… or frugality. Overall, a fine sentiment."

The Sith Lord paused as he waited for the acolyte to raise her head.

"Now destroy it," Syrosk said.

The acolyte dared not question her master, but she couldn't help but pass a glance toward Ryloh. Understandingly, the blue Twi'lek signaled for her to proceed. With a nod of her own, Kar'ai held the locket in her enclosed hand, audibly bending metal and shattering glass as she tightened her grip. As she relaxed her clutch, only a twisted bit of scrap lay in her palm. It was enough to earn an approving nod from her master.

Taking a step sideward, the Sith Lord found himself in front of the light blue Twi'lek, who was trying his hardest to keep a stern visage in light of what had just transpired. Syrosk produced the same silent glare as before, signaling for Ryloh to make his presentation. He followed his companion's actions, retrieving a red ribbon from his pocket and laying it in the flat of his palm.

"Hmm, now this is different. A Korriban Academy Acclamation Ribbon. Rewarded to Kar'ai Tjensi for excellence in swordsmanship. Obtained during one of the annual tourneys by the instructors of your classrooms. Something that cannot simply be made, but must be earned. A declaration of skill to all who see it," Syrosk evaluated. "As such, by giving it to your companion, you have proven yourself beyond keeping such petty qualifiers, yet each time your partner looks at it they will be reminded of your skill."

Once more the Sith Lord paused.

"Now destroy it."

Ryloh promptly ripped the ribbon into several thin strips before releasing them into the wind. With a nod, the Sith Lord continued down the line. One after another the acolytes would present their items, and the Sith Lord would analyze what it meant for the contributor and the recipient. Then promptly tell them to destroy it.

The Trandoshan smashed Vurt's music box beneath his clawed foot. The Nikto snapped Nesk's fang necklace, a prized hunting trophy. The Zabrak crushed Arlia's ampoule of Ryll, a type of spice mined from her species' homeworld. The violet Twi'lek held Isorr's procured Sith Medallion, an archaic form of entry into the Korriban Academy, in her hand. Unable to break the medal with her bare hands, she decided that throwing the trinket over the nearby cliff would suffice.

"If that lands on anything important, you are taking responsibility," Syrosk stated in his usual raspy tone, before moving on to the Pureblood.

Jresh followed the standard procedure, placing his companion's holocron in his hand, ready for the master's examination. Of peculiar note was the fact that this was the first item the Sith Lord felt the need to examine with his hands. Having manipulated it in silence, the horned alien ended his inspection with a ghastly chuckle before returning it to Jresh.

"It is a useless trinket of no significant monetary worth," Jresh stated, offering his own analysis before the Sith Lord could offer his. "However, it does symbolize my partner's ideals and motives regarding his quest for knowledge. It is the guiding principle of Lorrik's continued studies at this Academy, and by giving it to me, he trusts me with a glimpse into his prolonged intentions and the inner machination of his psyche."

A heavy silence fell across the mountain peak as the winds themselves stopped blowing.

"Hmm, not what I would have said, but that will suffice. You did leave off a bit at the end, however," Syrosk rasped. "Shall I say it, or-"

Jresh clenched his gloved fist before the Sith Lord could finish, collapsing the hollow trinket onto itself. Syrosk let out another grisly chortle as he approached the last acolyte. One final silent look, as Lorrik was ordered to offer his item. He complied by showing his empty palms.

"You'll have to forgive an old man's eyesight, but I do believe your hands are empty acolyte."

"Exactly," Lorrik stated.

"Did your companion deem you not worthy of his possessions?" Syrosk asked in a rather accusatory tone.

"Not at all," Lorrik stated. "It's just that he had no possessions to give. He gave away his belongings, signaling the beginning of a new life under the training of a new master."

"Oh? Did he give them away before or after I gave you this task?" Syrosk asked.

"Afterwards," Lorrik answered with slight hesitance.

The Sith Lord persisted. "He could not save even the tiniest of items for you? He wanted to start his new life, but not have you be a single part of it? He had all day to procure something in his 'new life' to give you."

The Human's head dipped. "It's not like that."

"It's not?" Syrosk asked.

"He didn't give me anything physical, but he did give me his respect and his trust. It is the intangible that proves the lasting bonds of a partnership. You cannot simply order me to destroy respect or trust," Lorrik firmly stated.

"You would not believe how wrong that statement is," Syrosk quietly rasped. "And what of respect? Is it truly as effective a measure of connectivity as you presume?"

"It must be earned."

"But how easily is it earned? I respect the Emperor. I respect the Jedi Grand Master. I respect my students," Syrosk listed. "It is but the lowest indicator of having proved oneself."

"Even so, trust is not as easily attainable."

"How so? I'm sure you promised not to stab him in the back, and now he trusts you. Simple as that. Whatever he may have told you, it matters not. What you hold in your hands does represent something your partner has given you, that much is true. However, it is not trust, or respect. It is evidence, of the selfishness and the willingness to permit you no power in holding anything he could possibly find attachment to."

The inquisitor's nostrils flared. "That's not true."

"It is true," Jresh spoke up. Confusion dwelled beneath the outermost layer of Lorrik's visage. Taking a few steps sideward, the Sith Lord once again found himself in front of the Pureblood. The horned alien's piercing eyes pleaded for the acolyte to continue. "To give my partner an item of significant worth would have given him control over a part of me. If I am going to advance as a Sith I cannot allow such weakness to influence me."

"That, is the correct answer," Syrosk expectantly said with an expression only slightly resembling a smile. "As Sith, we are taught that allowing ourselves to controlled and manipulated will prohibit the attainment of power that will inevitably allow us to control and manipulate the unworthy. However…"

The Sith Lord's half-smile quickly faded.

"The correct answer in not always the right answer. Or rather, it is not the best possible answer."

Jresh's eyes sharpened as he digested his master's words. Uncertainty persisted not only in the warrior, but in his partner as well. Syrosk continually glanced between the two acolytes in front of him. Only the soft whispers of the Korriban winds could be heard, softly knocking at the acolytes' ankles with the drifting sands carried therein.

The Sith Lord turned his back to the pair, longingly staring at the cliff's edge. "The task I gave you was a direct order, from master to student. From judge to contender. As an acolyte it is your duty to follow through with it. Even if it makes you hurt. Even if it makes you yearn. Even if it makes you weak. If you have the nerve to stand up for yourself, to disobey me, you had better possess the will to directly oppose me. Maybe someday, as an apprentice, I will allow you to provide insights and objections. For now however, you are far too weak to possibly challenge me or influence my decisions."

The Sith Lord turned around to directly address his student.

"You were true to the Sith way of life. Good," Syrosk rasped. "You disobeyed a direct order from your master. Bad. However, by doing so you showed true strength. Good. However, by doing so you took away my chance at destroying something precious to you. Bad."

The Sith Lord then directed his attention toward Lorrik.

"Not to mention, poor Lorrik was the only acolyte who didn't get the chance to crush something of his partner's."

Before the inquisitor could reply, Syrosk raised a single gauntleted hand, ordering silence.

"If you would be so kind, could you unhook your saber Lorrik?" Syrosk not so much asked, but insisted. The inquisitor complied, though with substantial hesitance. The Sith Lord stared down the acolyte as he held the training saber loosely in his hand. "Jresh has proven that the thing he values greatest is himself. Therefore for the purposes of the previously issued task, his body will act as a substitute for his given item."

A deep shiver ran down the inquisitor' spine, almost making him drop his weapon.

"If the others could take a few steps back," Syrosk requested, shooing the other six acolytes away. They promptly complied. "Now, take your saber, and strike your partner with the same conviction the others had in completing their task."

Lorrik stood, unmoving, in a daze, unsure of how to proceed.

"Lorrik, this is a punishment for not following an order. Are you telling me that you too are going to disobey me? The alternative is me enacting the punishment myself."

With those words, Lorrik had no choice but to step forward. Turning to his right, he locked eyes with the warrior for but a second. Jresh took a deep breath and closed his eyes, having accepted his fate. Holding the inactive training saber with two hands, Lorrik followed his companions lead before letting lose a swing toward the Pureblood's chest. The strike connected. But lacked even sufficient force to cause Jresh to shift from his spot in the slightest.

"Now, now, that'll never work," Syrosk stated, shaking his head. "You are right handed, are you not? Your swing should have more impact from the other side. Try again."

His head lowered, Lorrik relocated to Jresh's right side. Eyes still shut, the warrior waited patiently for the next blow. Another swing, this time strong enough to force Jresh to take a single step back. Looking to his master, Lorrik saw the Sith Lord baring a displeased expression.

"If you are too weak to leave a proper impression ,you could always activate the saber's energy array," Syrosk coldly offered.

Emotions began to rise from the bottom of the inquisitor's heart. Anger. Rage. Fury. At his master. At his companion. At himself. Not even thinking, Lorrik swung once more with passion, letting out a righteous battle cry. The saber came into contact hard with Jresh's shoulder and chest, forcing the warrior to take a knee.

"Good. Good," Syrosk said.

Lorrik bent down to render aid to his partner, but Jresh brushed the inquisitor away. Re-hooking his saber to his belt, Lorrik couldn't help but notice the other acolytes silently whispering amongst themselves a short distance away.

"Oh? I ask my students to take a few steps back and suddenly they think they think the lesson is over," Syrosk rasped as he peered toward the uncouth gathering.

Without hesitation, any slack in the other acolytes' postures was immediately remedied as the students stood once more at full attention. His master's attention elsewhere, Lorrik offered a hand of assistance to his partially felled companion. Jresh merely batted the hand away once more as he arose of his own accord. The warrior's piercing eyes seemed to lash out at the surrounding scenery, but they harbored no ill intentions toward the progenitor of his wounds, instead bearing a sense of intense determination.

Standing once more, Jresh brushed the dust from his knee and ventured toward the gathering of students. Lorrik remained frozen in place, until the warrior beckoned him to follow with a subtle wave. The inquisitor heeded his companion's call, but certainly lacked the exuberant presence that was his norm. Once more, the Sith Lord and his students were all together, ready to continue.

"Day one was special," Syrosk stated. "From here on out we will train. Day in. Day out. Even during your spare time, your bodies, minds, and skills will be put to the test, whether you all know it or not. Regarding your first test, I now possess first-hand knowledge of how each and every one of you thinks. Now, the time has come for you to prove yourselves to me in combat."


	8. 1-07 Duelists

**Chapter Seven: Duelists**

Sweeter words could not have been spoken for some of the acolytes. Smiles even graced the faces of the more combative students, relishing the fact that they could prove themselves in a fight rather than with arbitrary mind games. Jresh managed to preserve his stern expression through the news and his injuries. Lorrik meanwhile, was less than thrilled at the entire prospect.

"I suppose, as this is the first of many times you shall fight in my presence, I should keep this first trial simple," Syrosk stated. "A series of duels. warrior versus warrior. inquisitor versus inquisitor. Repeat. Now, since you managed to break up the convenient line formation you had going earlier, I am without a suitable form of deciding who should go first. I suppose volunteering would be-"

"I volunteer to go first, my Lord," Kar'ai enthusiastically interrupted.

"I suppose volunteering would be the best way to proceed," Syrosk repeated, managing to finish this time. The Sith Lord stared at the Rattataki warrior with an extremely dull expression.

"Oh, it would appear we have our first volunteer," Syrosk stated, oozing with faux excitement. "Would anyone else like to-"

"I will face her!" Nesk snarled. After a pause, the Sith Lord released the heaviest of sighs towards the Trandoshan.

"Very well, we have our first set of combatants," Syrosk said in a rather unenthusiastic tone. "Allow me to set forth some rules. Not just for this duel. But for your continued tutelage under myself."

"Number one: Do not attempt to kill your opponent in my presence. I possess a very precise set of methods that will transform you all into worthy Sith, but it requires patience and the continued existence of your peers to bring out your true potential for the time being. That being said, outside of my presence, Academy rules still hold true… so be prepared to defend yourself to your last breath at all times."

"Number two: Do not deviate from the rule sets I put forth during any and all trials. I have designed the tasks I assign with the utmost meticulousness. To break free from the confines I provide is to incur my wrath. But that rule was sufficiently explained mere moments ago was it not?"

"Number three: Do. Not. Inter. Rupt. Me. When. I. Am. Talking. Do. I. Make. My. Self. Clear?"

The petrified students could barely nod in agreement, but they did so as if their lives depended on it, because is all fairness, it very well could have.

"Simple enough, yes? Now, I believe there was word of two volunteers. Step forward."

Kar'ai and Nesk shared a combative glance as they removed themselves from the crowd of acolytes.

"The rest of you, remain silent and watch the proceeding fights very carefully. On one hand, you just might learn something yourselves. On the other, I don't want to be distracted by petty sideline banter. Understood?"

Once more, the students answered with a quick nod.

Syrosk walked toward the center of what appeared to be the remnants of a ring carved into the flat mountaintop. The dueling warriors began to follow him, but were motioned to stay put towards the circle's edge. In his intended position, the Sith Lord took a deep breath as he focused his energies.

With an exhale, and the quick jut of a hand, an invisible energy radiated from the horned alien's body. Like a violent yet perfectly oriented wind, the shockwave blew away all traces of overlaying dust that had nearly concealed the markings of the ancient arena.

"Before you, rests an ancient Sith dueling circle," Syrosk stated. "Small enough to always keep you but a short distance away from your death. Large enough to accommodate even the most agile and acrobatic of combatants. The petty rings you may have used to duel within the halls of the Academy were nothing compared to the wonder you see before you. These shallow carvings have endured thousands of years of natural erosion. Endured the various planetary occupations and desertions. It is as much an artifact as any weapon or trinket held by a Dark Lord of the Sith. It demands your sacrifice. Your blood. Your pain. Your life. Therefore, in order to prove yourselves as my students, you must possess at least what little power is required to disregard the demands of stone."

With no more words to give, the Sith Lord summoned forth the two dueling warriors. They were directed to opposing edges of the ring, twenty meters apart. The two combatants simultaneously adopted their unique battle stances as they activated their training sabers. Nesk stood tall, holding his weapon at his side, pointed toward the ground. Kar'ai gripped her weapon with two hands, its tip pointing toward the sky, legs slightly bent as she readied herself to pounce.

"Why so eager to face me, Nesk?" Kar'ai asked, a confident grin gracing her lips.

"Settling its argument from yesterday," Nesk answered.

"There was an argument? All I remember is you refusing to admit I was the better duelist," Kar'ai toyed.

"It lacked proof!" Nesk snarled.

"Well, the torn ribbon that's probably resting at the bottom of the mountain right now was a good indicator," Kar'ai smugly replied.

"Not fair! Was dissqualified from tourney!" Nesk shouted.

"I'm sure you'll come up with just as good an excuse for when you lose this duel," Kar'ai stated. The primal glare Nesk had directed toward his opponent reached its peak. The match was about to begin, regardless of their master's position between them.

Syrosk raised a hand, prompting the students to hold whilst he exited the ring. Once beyond the boundaries of the circle, the Sith Lord cut the air with his falling hand, signaling the warriors to begin. The signal did not go unheeded, as Kar'ai rushed toward her unmoving opponent. Only at the last moment did Nesk bother raising his saber. The Trandoshan's own physical strength was more than capable of permitting the effortless blocking of the initial strike. The colossal warrior stood less of a chance, however, in countering the Rattataki's blistering speed.

Utilizing the push back from her opponent's blade, Kar'ai maneuvered toward Nesk's flank. The follow-up backhand swing of her training saber was only barely defended against by the Trandoshan. Weapons crossed, Nesk let out a forceful snarl as he shoved the other warrior away. Pushed back, Kar'ai now found herself on the defense. Unable to block Nesk's bold attacks with physical strength alone, she relief on utilizing her greater maneuverability.

The Trandoshan lashed out continuously with erratic attacks, fury the driving force behind each strike. Nearing the edge of the dueling ring, Kar'ai was forced to directly block one of her opponents powerful strikes. With a downward swing, Nesk was able to bring the Rattataki to her knee as their sabers clashed. Locked together, Kar'ai was barely able to roll to the side as her opponent's clawed foot raced toward her.

The two warriors continued their bout with fairly predictable form. Their techniques were honed by the years of study and practice they had received at the Academy, but certainly lacking in refinement. Nesk relied on strength and endurance. Kar'ai, on dexterity and agility. The other students watched in awe as the talented contenders went on for minutes, neither seemingly holding an advantage over the other. The fighters themselves seemed to be reveling in the match themselves as passionate expressions graced their uncloaked faces. Their master watched patiently, noting every movement partaken by his students.

There was a lull in the conflict as the combatants found a widening gap of a few meters between them. Utilizing this space, Kar'ai leapt at her opponent intending on bringing her saber down with the mightiest of strikes. The other students could have sworn the ground itself shook when the two sabers connected. As if floating, the Rattataki had no footing to dodge Nesk's twist of the blade, driving his saber's handle into her face. The blow to the cheek connected with enough force to send the female warrior tumbling to the ground, putting an end to her acrobatic grace.

Nesk looked to his master, who's expression bared no desire for the warriors to cease their match. With a nod, the lumbering Trandoshan approached the felled Rattataki. A sweeping leg from the fallen Kar'ai attempted to trip the warrior by her feet, but was unable to budge the firmly planted Trandoshan. Instead, Nesk ignored the trivial kick to his lower leg, gripping the Rattataki by her throat with his clawed hand. With his right hand holding his saber at his side, Nesk raised his opponent into the air with his left. Kar'ai's weapon fell from her hand as she struggled to breath whilst hoisted in the air.

"Is it finished? Not impressed," Nesk snarled.

Whilst gasping for air, sparse words seemed to emanate from the Rattataki's lips.

"Oh? It tries to speak?" Nesk asked, slightly shifting his grip.

"I said… just needed… reach," Kar'ai managed to mutter. Suddenly the Rattataki's left leg stretched toward the sky. Nesk was only able to look up for but a moment before Kar'ai brought her heel down, smashing in the Trandoshan's snout. Dazed, Nesk fell forward, releasing his grip on Kar'ai. Her opponent now lying face down in the dusty surface below, she promptly retrieved her training saber from where it fell. The Trandoshan could not recover in time to avoid the ignited weapon's tip hovering only a short distance from the back of his neck.

From the sidelines, Syrosk initiated a round of slow applause for the warriors. With the Sith Lord's normally sluggish movements, the students were not entirely sure whether his clapping was genuine or bordering on facetious. The horned alien bid the two combatants to rise and relax at their leisure.

"Well done my students," Syrosk offered as the two warriors shuffled back toward the group. Ryloh seemed absolutely thrilled at his partner's apparent victory. Complimentary remarks oozed from his lips as he affirmed his companion. Lorrik couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the positive display. Meanwhile, Vurt watched his partner's return with the same permanently cold expression he always bore.

"Kar'ai," Syrosk began, directing his full attention toward the Rattataki. "You were both the initiator and the concluder. You began strong and fast, and refused to let your opponents physical superiority deteriorate your flow. The embodiment of aggression. You show skill in a style of combat that would quickly drain others, but like all things, there is room for improvement. In your haste, and your reliance on acrobatics, you must ensure that you are never not in control of the situation. You must command your body in its entirety, whether it is on the ground, or in the air. Do not 'jump at' your opponent, for you can be stopped. Rather, aim to 'jump through' your opponent."

"Nesk," Syrosk continued, changing his focus to the Trandoshan still clutching his nose. "Though lacking the raw movement shown by your opponent, you fought with just as much energy. Bold and direct, yet equally chaotic. Though slow, you made up for it with powerful blows and a penchant for unpredictable behavior. The embodiment of ferocity. You draw upon an infinitely renewable emotional fuel to empower your attacks. That is where your greatest strength lies. But it is also your greatest limiter until you can master it. You must draw from your internal emotions. When you scream and shout on the battlefield, you are letting your true power slip away from you. The pressure inside of you lessens, preventing you from reaching your true potential. Your fury is your own. Let your opponent not see it in your face, but in your blade."

"Overall, an adequate show from the warriors," Syrosk continued, scanning the group from side to side. "Let us see how the inquisitors do. Would the partners of the two previous combatants please step forward."

Vurt promptly left the side of his companion with his head held high. Ryloh was less than enthused. The two had seen each other fight for the favor of the warriors back at the Academy, leading to some predetermined estimation when it came the each other's skill. The Twi'lek saw the Nikto shatter a student's leg just the other day. The hesitance could be seen in Ryloh's shuffle toward the dueling circle.

The two acolytes found themselves opposite each other, drawing their training saber's at their master's behest. The golden energy bands crackled as the sabers activated, eliciting a hum that would replace that of the passing winds. Syrosk raised a hand into the air, prompting the students to ready themselves for the ensuing battle.


	9. 1-08 Clashes

**Chapter Eight: Clashes**

The two inquisitors readied themselves in silence. No words. No taunts. No insults. Only the shuffling of material as the acolytes awaited the dropping of their master's hand. Vurt adopted a low guard, his weapon held in his right hand. Ryloh kept his feet firmly planted below him, saber held high with both hands.

The two mirrored the positions of the warriors who came before them, though with a veneer of overbearing calm instead of the ferocity that came beforehand. Both stood unmoving, in regards to Vurt's lack of emotion, and Ryloh's lack of wanting to move from his spot.

"Begin," Syrosk called out, dropping his raised hand. By appearances, it could have seemed that neither of the combatants had heard their master. But in truth, this match would be vastly different from the once preceding it. The two acolytes watched each other, examining every minute movement and technique.

Slowly, the inquisitors began their approach toward the center of the ring. Step after step was taken in moderation. Once finally together, Ryloh was the first to strike out. A wide diagonal slash came down upon his opponent, but was promptly deflected. The move's intention was not to harm, but to gauge the opponent. Vurt was known to be as close to a true duelists as an inquisitor could get, and his actions did nothing to dissuade the notion in Ryloh's mind.

The duel continued like this for quite some time. One would let out an attack and the other would defend, each never breaking eye contact. Eventually the pace would increase, bit by bit, until the match had escalated to its peak. Attack and counterattack would transpire within a period of a single second, only to be followed by a new set the second after.

Ryloh utilized long, flowing arc movements. Vurt utilized short, precise actions. Both acted and responded with utmost fluidity. The two circled each other, never moving more than a few meters from the ring's center.

To the untrained eye, it appeared that the acolytes had reached a stalemate, but any true saber duelist could see Vurt had the advantage, which he was pressing at every opportune moment.

This advantage seemed to have run its course however, when Ryloh found the perfect moment to strike. After an attack, the Nikto had left the hand gripping his saber completely exposed. The Twi'lek knew the duel would be over if he could just damage his opponents dominant hand.

Unfortunately, Vurt was aware of this fact as well. In fact, he was even aware that Ryloh aware of this fact. It was all a feint by the Nikto, driving his opponent toward an apparent weak point. Ryloh's training saber was able to contact the other inquisitor's hand, however without proper footing, he was forced to rely on the blade's energy field to do the majority of the damage. And as Vurt expected, the blade did little more than leave a dark scorch mark on the surface of the reinforced gauntlet.

Vurt, however, was able to do much more than leave a surface mark as he responded with a proper upswing toward the Twi'lek's torso. Possessing more than enough power behind his swing, the Nikto was able to drive his blow past the layered robes covering his opponents body. Ryloh was forced to endure a pain much like Jresh had endured earlier, only this time complimented by the searing energy of the activated training saber. Ryloh's saber fell to the ground as he was forced to clutch his wounded stomach and chest.

"Looks like I'll be sending up replacement robes sooner than expected," Syrosk rasped. Vurt had already begun his silent approach back toward the group, without any signal from his master, but the Sith Lord offered no objections. The victor of the match was clear.

Ryloh managed to bring himself to his feet, a diagonal line burnt into his torso, past the robes and onto his once blueish skin. He retrieved his weapon and returned to the side of his companion, attempting to withhold any expressions of pain or anguish. Though disappointed in his defeat, Kar'ai couldn't help but respect her partner's display of skill and endurance. Meanwhile, Vurt merely shot a glance toward his partner, bearing heavy notions of 'that is how you do it'.

"Vurt," Syrosk began, directing himself toward the impersonal acolyte. "You showed great promise in your skills with a saber. On par with, and perhaps even surpassing, the talents of some of the warriors. A proper offense. A proper defense. A proper duelist. What might appear as hesitance was merely a matter of judging your opponent and reacting appropriately. You were one with your weapon, holding it near the blade, ensuring you would sooner lose your entire hand rather than let go of your saber. Living for the fight. The embodiment of contention. However, your reliance on your saber skills will eventually betray you. There will always be a stronger foe. There will be attacks you cannot defend and guards you cannot pierce. As an inquisitor, it is your duty to never rely on a single font of power."

"Ryloh," Syrosk continued, directing his attention toward the wounded, but upright, acolyte. "You failed. And yet, you succeeded. We saw it in the beginning didn't we? Any experienced Force-user should have. You were no match for your opponent to begin with. It was not a question of would you win, but how long would the duel last? And you did not disappoint. You fought whilst outmatched. You studied your opponents techniques. You continued. The embodiment of determination. I have seen your kind. The watcher. Never the first to strike without already being five steps ahead. Planning. Reacting. You possess a skill and technique with a saber that one would expect of any initiate given any set of proper training. The basics strikes and flourishes every student of the Academy learns, but you have refined them to a point resembling an actual fighting style. Be warned, however. All the planning in the world will not save you from defeat at the hands of someone wielding raw power."

"A fine display from the two pairs. Then again it was to be expected. I know of the warriors' backgrounds and the measures which they used to select their partners. A lackluster performance from you four would have nullified any excuse for your continued existence." There was a pause as the Sith Lord studied his students for a moment. "Let us see how the warriors who fancy themselves 'thinkers' handle themselves in combat. Isorr. Jresh. You two are up."

As the Zabrak made his way toward the circle, Lorrik noticed that his partner was still in pain. Without thinking, the inquisitor took a step forward, ready to unleash a comment, but was cut short by the hand of Jresh resting upon his shoulder. With a turn, Lorrik saw his companion subtly shaking his head.

"If you are hoping to delay my match in the hopes that I have more time to recover, you needn't bother," Jresh calmly said. "It matters not if I go into battle sooner rather than later. The damage has been done. Show that you respect me enough to allow me to fight for myself this one time."

Lorrik responded with a dutiful nod. With that, the Pureblood flexed his shoulders before continuing toward the arena. Jresh's stride yielded no overt signs of injury, but Lorrik knew he was not operating at peak performance. But the warrior would hear none of it. The two warriors faced off in the ring as the others did before them. In silence, they ignited their weapons.

Jresh gripped his saber tightly with both hands even with his eye line, angling the blade back as if ready to deal a crushing blow on any who would dare to take advantage of his wounded torso. Isorr stance countered his opponent, opting to keep a low two-handed guard in front of himself. Syrosk examined the two's more subtle movements before finally calling for the match to begin.

The warriors closed in on each other, awaiting the inevitable confrontation in the center of the ring. They simultaneously struck out, Jresh bringing down his saber like an avalanche and Isorr sweeping upwards like a powerful gust. When the two connected, it brought about one of the greatest clashes the dueling circle had recently experienced. But instead of an explosive outburst, the connection brought stillness. For even the dust and the wind refused to budge until one of the warriors removed their weapon from the lock.

Jresh was the first to step back, adopting a defensive stance as Isorr pressed forward. The Pureblood blocked blow after blow, waiting for the perfect opportunity to parry and go on the offensive. But no such opportunity came. Even with his superior strength, the ache developing in his shoulder prevented Jresh from successfully overpowering his opponent. Instead, the defender steeled his defenses, reserving his energies.

Rather than continue a relentless assault, Isorr took a leap back. Seeing an opportunity, Jresh pressed forward with an attack. Unfortunately, the Zabrak did the same, only with a Force-assisted dash. This time, when the sabers connected, Isorr's blow had enough power to drive past Jresh's guard. While his own weapon may not have landed a blow, he did succeed in driving the Pureblood's weapon against its wielder, and straight into his wounded shoulder. Before Jresh could properly recover, Isorr sought to capitalize on the situation with a downward swing.

His saber lowered due to his wound, Jresh could not provide a proper counter. So an improper one would have to suffice. Using his well-protected hand, he opted to swat his opponents saber to the side with his left gauntlet. His right fist followed with a blow to Isorr face, not bothering to waste time with a swing of the blade. The Zabrak spun away from his opponent after the hit. Using his free hand, Isorr thrust his open palm downward, telekinetically causing a plume of dust to rise between the two combatants.

Jresh threw out a quick shockwave of his own to clear the inhibiting cloud, just in time to see Isorr performing another dash. This time, the Pureblood was capable of defending without injuring himself, though only barely. With an upward block, Jresh sent his opponent soaring past him while he was brought down to the flat of his back. With a cartwheel, Isorr managed to recover first. As Jresh struggled to pull himself off of the ground, he found himself moving against his will. The Zabrak clenched his fist tight as he telekinetically drug his foe toward him. In mere moments, the Pureblood lay at his feet.

Before he could bring his saber down upon his opponent, Isorr found himself compelled downward. Jresh Force-pulled his opponent toward his grounded state, but interrupted his fall with a swift kick of his boot. Releasing his grip, the Pureblood found his opponent staggered. Spinning from his grounded position, Jresh swept Isorr's leg with his own. Rather than avoid falling, the Zabrak brought himself down with all his might, delivering a strike with his elbow against his foe's chest. As Jresh writhed in pain, Isorr was able to regain his footing, and his dominance over his opponent. With a training saber directed toward his face, Jresh had finally lost the match. The slow clap emanating from the sideline signaled the true cessation of the duel.

"Congratulations. You two have earned the honor of doing the most damage to each other sans weapons," Syrosk stated. Isorr managed to make his way back to the group with relative ease, thought his entire body seemed to ache with each passing moment. Jresh on the other hand, rested firmly in his spot on the ground. When Lorrik went over to help him, he saw the most pondering look of serenity on his companion's face as he gazed upwards toward the Korriban sky.

"That was impressive," Lorrik complimented his fallen friend.

The warrior merely closed his eyes with a sigh. "It was never my intention to impress you."

"Great! You're succeeding at things without even trying," Lorrik joked as he extended his hand.

Jresh stared at the hand with a few long, hard moments before finally accepting it. The inquisitor slowly helped his companion to his feet. Jresh promptly began dusting off his robes until he was overcome with a searing pain in his chest and left shoulder. Clutching at the singed fibers on his torso, he made his way back to the group with Lorrik by his side. The Sith Lord offered a curious stare at the duo as they integrated with group's ranks.

"Isorr," Syrosk began, focusing his attention toward the victor. "You obviously had the upper hand going into this duel. It would be foolish to say that this didn't affect your fighting style. Just as it would be foolish had you not permitted your fighting style be affected. You adapted to the situation as you saw fit, not focusing on a single technique for more than a moment. You attacked and defended when it proved prudent. You used not only your saber, but your entire body and spirit. The embodiment of moderation. You relied on intuition and adaptation. However, will such a reliance aid or hinder you? There will come a day when creativity will not breach your opponent's defenses. When quick thinking will not prevent a blade from plunging through your chest. Just as one must not rely on a single skill, one also mustn't expect the sum of all their efforts to unanimously push them in the right direction. A warrior must be ready to end any confrontation in a single move."

"Jresh," Syrosk continued, focusing on the heavily breathing warrior. "You had the misfortune of entering battle while injured, disabling you from fighting at your best. Luckily, you have learned one of the most valuable lesson a Sith can learn. You will never be without your flaws. Some will be your own fault, but most will come from those who wish to keep you down. And you will meet many of such people in your lifetime. You will be beaten mercilessly. Time after time. In rapid succession. In war, the only true preparation comes from knowing that you will always be unprepared. All of you should heed this lesson well. Fortunately, it only took the beating of one student to illustrate it. Although, I will happily repeat the lesson myself lest any of you forget it."

"But alas, such musings actually have little to do with how you performed in the duel," Syrosk continued. "You were injured. Your swings lacked backing. Your guard lacked fortitude. But you continued. You bided your time, waiting for the opportune moment to block, parry, and strike. Unfortunately that moment never rightfully came. But still you did not yield. The embodiment of perseverance. However, one can only persevere whilst they hold enough power to do so. The second your attacks begin to weaken, or your body begins to tire, or your mind begins to falter… you've already lost."

The warrior accepted his master's lesson with a dutiful nod. Lorrik could not help but feel proud for his partner, at least until he realized it was now his turn to duel, at which point that became the sole focus of his mind.


	10. 1-09 Validations

**Chapter Nine: Validations**

The time had finally come for Lorrik to prove himself in battle. To his new master and to his companion. As inevitable as the occurrence was, the inquisitor found himself hesitant. Not because of fear. His many years in the Academy had accustomed Lorrik to the usual hardships the life of a Sith.

He knew of pain. He knew of suffering. He knew of betrayal. Such things no longer left incurable wounds. Instead, self-inflicted matters bore the most influence. For deep within his mind, Lorrik still possessed one of the Sith's greatest limiters. Doubt.

Even the rigorous upbringing of years past could not erase it. Perhaps, because it was never intended to be fully erased. Years were spent in combat, but only with fellow students and the occasional instructor. There was no power in proving yourself against your 'equals'. No knowledge in the studying presented materials.

The Sith preached strength, but the classrooms demanded control. They could not allow mere acolytes to gain true power, true insight, lest they turn against their superiors. Notions of betrayal and usurpation worked finely as ideals, but not as a means of ensuring attendance. And so, the artificial weakness remained. The reliance. The doubt. The need for training replacing the want.

Every day they plotted their rise above their superiors, but still they postponed any actions, lest they waste any potential not yet wrung from their tutor. That was the way of the acolyte. The way of the apprentice, however, trounced such notions, allowing selfish gleams of hope to permeate the mind and drive the young Sith forward.

But here, these eight student stood as enigmas, unsure of their own place in the system. They seemed to have escaped the drudge of acolytes under paltry instructors incapable of becoming true Sith. And yet, by their new master's own admission, they were not yet apprentices. There existed two paths for each student.

Rejection: to be cast back into the deep waters of worthlessness. Promise: to be deemed worthy. Not worthy of education. Not worthy of training. But worthy of apprenticeship. For that word held untold power in the hearts and minds of any student of the Academy. But alas, one unshakable force lingered. Doubt.

Doubt. The great snare of progress. And it gripped Lorrik's soul now more than ever. For years, the only person he truly had to prove himself to was, in fact, himself. The instructors could threaten exile, torture, and death until their faces were as red as their Sith superiors. But such fates felt so unlikely that it eventually became a joke amongst the students.

Each student who possessed enough inkling of skill, it was simply a matter of persisting. But now, Lorrik had to prove himself not only to his new master, but his new partner as well. For the first time in his attendance of the Academy, the inquisitor actually found himself caring about what others thought of him.

"Well, we've but one duel left, I see no reason to simply stand around," Syrosk rasped. "Arlia. Lorrik. Into the circle."

The inquisitors shared a passing glance before making their way to the dueling arena side by side. An awkward silence persisted as each combatant awaited the other's inevitable pre-battle taunts. Oddly, none were made before the two separated into their opposing positions within the circle. Even the most vocal of students knew when silence and preparation were most prudent.

The two ignited their training sabers and adopted their opening stances, with Arlia mimicking the one-handed low guard of her companion. Lorrik slid his right foot backward and his saber followed. His right hand gripping the weapon, he directed its tip directly toward his opponent. His left hand jut forward, parallel to his saber, adopting a clawed appearance.

One final drop of the Sith Lord's hand signaled the duel's start. Arlia would be the instigator, launching toward her opponent. Lorrik tried to keep his cool and study the charging Twi'lek in the mere moments he had before reacting. Arlia was using a very similar style as her companion, though failing to see each and every difference would prove disastrous. Subtle variations in footwork, her saber trailed her gait, her free hand instead leading the charge. Two seconds had not yet passed and the first move of the match was revealed. And it was not a mere swing of a training saber.

Arlia rescinded her outstretched hand with a frightfully quick gesture, attempting to telekinetically draw her opponent closer to her. Lorrik could not rightfully guard against the forceful tug of his entire person, upsetting his balance. The Human could only bring his saber in close, limiting the exposure of his torso. Weapons clashed in earnest, with Lorrik establishing a footing at just the precise moment. The Twi'lek withdrew, only to strike again a moment later.

She was faster than her considerably quick companion. Swings and strikes from all angles slowly encroached on Lorrik's tightened defenses. Things appeared to take a turn for the worse for the Human when the barrage sent him to one of his knees. Capitalizing on her opponent's weakened stance, she readied a finishing overhead swing. However, at the apex of her weapon's rise, Lorrik let out a powerful Force-push up from his free hand, sending Arlia stumbling backward.

Rather than fight her movements, Arlia carried herself with the momentum, rolling backward until she could rise again within the blink of an eye. She sprung to her feet ready to face the advancing foe she had expected, but instead found something much different. Lorrik stood only a few meters away, unmoving, awaiting the Twi'lek's recovery in a guarded stance.

Arlia renewed her assault, switching from wide swings to jabbing attacks. Precision was met with precision. Subtle parries and sidesteps ensured that nothing breached the Human's defenses. The two combatants continued as such for minutes. Arlia would attack. Lorrik would defend. The roles would never change. A curious pause fell upon the arena once Arlia withdrew her assault. Once more, the two inquisitors found themselves staring at each other silence, though the silence could not last.

"Why aren't you attacking?" Arlia harshly asked, showing signs of exhaustion.

"I'm just doing what I'm good at," Lorrik casually answered.

The Twi'lek furrowed her brow as she gritted her teeth. "How?"

"Um, with this," Lorrik said, gently waving his training saber in front of himself. "I thought that was pretty obvious."

"No! I mean, how are you this good at something?" Arlia countered.

"When you're as skilled at attracting the ire of classmates as I am, you learn a thing or two about defense," Lorrik casually stated.

Arlia offered an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Congratulations, you managed to draw some form of strength from your inherent weakness."

The Human countered with a shrug. "It doesn't look like weakness on my end."

"Oh, then why don't you bother attacking?" Arlia taunted through drawn out breaths. "Scared to swing your saber at someone who actually has a chance to retaliate?"

Lorrik only offered a jocular scoff.

"Would you like for me to stand still?" Arlia asked. "Maybe close my eyes? Put my hands behind my back? Maybe then you could actually take me down, I mean, you've done that before haven't you?"

The Human couldn't help but have his mind wander to his partner's condition. Though seemingly recovered, the Pureblood remained slightly slouched on the sidelines, his normally prideful stance missing.

"If it makes you feel better... even after you lose, you will have technically defeated at least one person today. Granted it was your own partner-"

"Are you done yet?" Lorrik asked, finally showing signs of depleted resolve.

"I don't know, am I?" Arlia countered. The Human found a genuine hate brewing in his innards. Once more he directed his saber's tip toward his opponent. The Twi'lek resumed her combat stance as well, though certainly lacking the eagerness she displayed before.

Once more, Lorrik studied his opponent. He noticed a subtle bobbing in her training saber's guard, evidence that he had finally driven her to exhaustion. Finally sensing an opportunity, Lorrik rushed forward, bringing his weapon down from above. Arlia's guard suddenly raised in retaliation and the Human's swing was promptly parried.

Realizing he had horribly misjudged his opponent, Lorrik drew his saber closer for a tight defense. Predicting this action, Arlia closed the gap between the two, grabbing her foe's weapon hand and maneuvering herself to his back. Tightening her grip, the Twi'lek pinned the Human's weapon hand to his chest, his free hand caught underneath. Bringing her own right hand around his other shoulder, Lorrik found two sabers crossed directly below his neck.

Lorrik was trapped. Bound by Arlia's grip, the Human dared not move lest he be scorched by one of the two sabers caught beneath his vision. In a desperate position, Lorrik could only think of one means of escape. His gaze turned to his opponent's hand griping his own. He focused his mind. All the anger that had been building up. His contempt for his opponent. His disappointment in himself. His regret. Lorrik lashed out at the vile hand that still trapped his with all his emotion in his mind.

Then suddenly, with a crackling shock… absolutely nothing. No matter how hard he tried, nothing came. His form stayed as it had been, and would persist like that for however long Arlia wished it to. Lorrik had been utterly defeated.

"Next time you try and play mind games with someone, make sure you're not completely outmatched," Arlia whispered, having dropped her faux-exhaustion. With the beckoning of her master, the Twi'lek released her grip and shoved the Human away before making her way toward the gathering of students. With hesitance, Lorrik deactivated his training saber and followed suit.

"Arlia," Syrosk began. "It would seem that Isorr made an excellent choice in his partnership. You possessed skill enough to break the unbreakable. Capable in areas of strength, speed, and defense, but ultimately it was your cunning and the combination of your skills that saw you through to victory. The embodiment of moderation, much like your partner. Whereas you might lack the raw strength of a warrior, you possess an mind capable of great tactical prowess. However, while your mind may be your greatest strength, it is also your greatest weakness. You seek control, for control is what will decide your battles. The second you lose even a single facet of that control, others will follow. It is one thing to fool your opponent. It is another to fool yourself. Don't tell yourself that you are unaffected by notions of thought that are counterproductive to your goals. Doubt stalls those who see it within themselves. It destroys those who don't."

"Lorrik," Syrosk continued, diverting his gaze toward the defeated inquisitor. "You would do well to heed those words as well. For the most part, you were carrying out your intentions with a fine degree of success. You defended. And defended. And defended. A fine tactic to wear out the rather inordinate amount of overly-hasty opponents you might face. You do not strike out of turn. You do not make unnecessary moves. You keep your guard closed and your mind open. The embodiment of resilience. But perhaps you kept your mind just a little too open. Your ability to block and parry a saber will do you no good if you are still susceptible to a sharpened tongue. If you wish follow the path of resilience… you must know what it is to persist. Your body must fail you. Your mind must falter. Your spirit must waver. Only then can you recover… learn… persist. You must suffer before you may endure. And after said suffering, you will still find yourself incapable of striking out against your foes in any meaningful manner. Ask yourself… is that a path worth following? Is it a path you are even capable of?"

Lorrik did not know how to take his master's words. He had failed. Perhaps failure could lead to knowledge and improvement, but it was also a sign of weakness. Could strength born from fault be considered true strength at all? It would have to be. Lorrik desired strength. He needed strength. For strength was the only way anyone could make a difference within the Empire.

Because of that fact, Lorrik would persist. Endure. Survive. He didn't know how, but he would. And for the first time he saw promise from external sources. His master was no mere Academy instructor. His companion was no mere Sith hopeful. But much more work would be required. Years of study yet remained until he would consider himself a worthy Sith.

With all of the duels out of the way, Syrosk looked over his students one by one in silence. The majority of them has lost the vigor and poise they had once possessed in their stances. Even some of the victors were drawing heavy breaths and bore sweat upon their brows.

Student after student tensed for a brief moment as they found their master's scrutinizing eyes pass over them. Eagerly, they awaited whatever words of wisdom the Sith Lord must have been formulating in his head. Instead, they received a rather casual dismissal.

"That was a fine display from all of you," Syrosk stated, drawing from no apparent pool of enthusiasm. "Class dismissed."

The students glanced at each other in confusion. The day was still young. They still stood upright. This was far from the manner of teaching they expected from their new ,aster. The Sith Lord took a few steps toward the cliff's return path before stopping.

"Something tells me you expected more," Syrosk rasped, not bothering to face his students. "I suppose I could throw together some more physical trials. Make you run to the Academy and back, throw the slowest from the edge of the cliff. But I am not in the mood for such things. Your bouts today were for my own benefit. Not yours. I wanted to see what your bodies were capable of. Any experience or knowledge gained from these exercises were a mere bonus. My intentions rested solely in gathering information to be used in the months to come regarding your training. There is little more I could learn from you all in your various conditions, so I grant you the rest of the day to yourselves. Another test will be ready by the next midday. I would advise you to take this time to get to know your partner. Such a course of action would prove prudent for tomorrow."

With that, the Sith Lord silently made his way back to the Academy, hands resting together behind his back. Some of the students began to follow, but deemed it awkward to be forced to pass their master, or match his slow pace. But such an act of avoidance only led to an equally awkward silence persisting between the eight students. With half having just been defeated by the other half, desire for pleasantries was understandably low.

Instead they divided into their various duos and recuperated their psyche while awaiting the initiative to descend the mountain.


	11. 1-10 Ideals

**Chapter Ten: Ideals**

An hour had passed since the end of the last duel. All the students except for two had departed the mountaintop. Jresh stood resolute once more, showing no signs of discomfort from the previous quarrel. As the Pureblood stared out across the vista of Korriban's jagged hills, Lorrik lay upon his back beside him, feet dangling as his knees bent over the cliff's edge. Each acolyte appeared locked in their respective thoughts, though Lorrik appeared as if he could have been taking a nap. Whether or not that was in fact the case, the silence was soon broken by the standing Pureblood.

"Lorrik. I find it quite odd that you have remained silent this entire time," Jresh said, not bothering to turn his gaze away from this distant horizon. Lorrik responded by opening a single eye before wincing under the light of the Korriban sun.

"I'll admit, I do enjoy conversation more than your average Sith," Lorrik stated, his eyes shut once more. "But I'm more than content to be left alone with my thoughts."

Jresh looked to his partner for a moment before casting his gaze back toward the horizon. "Going by your interactions with the other students, you'll have to understand my confusion."

"With the other students, it's more just me trying to get a reaction out of them," Lorrik plainly offered. "It's the inquisitor way. You'd be surprised how revealing a few simple words can be depending on how they are uttered."

Jresh sharpened his eyes as he continued to pan his gaze across the distant mountaintops. "I wouldn't be in the slightest. I fully understand the capabilities of your given sect. However, is that why you have chosen silence? Do you not wish to 'get a reaction' from me?"

"I suppose. We're partners now. History has proven that the more I talk, the lower someone appreciates my presence. I'd like not to ruin what we have going for us because I accidentally mention you losing your duel or-"

"Stop right there," Jresh sternly said.

"See?" Lorrik replied, once again opening a single eye. "That was only half-intentional."

"I want you to understand something," Jresh bluntly stated. "Here and now. If you ever think to bring up any perceived weaknesses or deficiencies in regards to my person… I implore you to do so."

The Human opened both eyes in confusion.

"Come again?" Lorrik asked.

"Going forward, if there is one thing you must know about me, it is that I am not like my ilk. I do not come to anger at every affront to my ego. I do not ignore that which makes me weak. I do not deny my failures. I remember them. Embrace them. For that is the only way I will become stronger. Through triumph over defeat, not denial of it. Do not be afraid to confront me of my failures. In fact, to do so would be the greatest thing I could ask of you."

Lorrik released a soft chuckle. "Of all the obligations I've had placed on me, this… this I will have no trouble with."

"Good," Jresh stated. "And expect the same from me to you. But in the meantime, so long as we are alone, do not feel the need to hold your tongue in my regard."

The Human offered his partner a curious look. "Well, so long as you're looking for tips… whenever you're accepting any punishments in the near future, maybe drop the whole immortal persona and pretend you're actually being punished."

"It is not my fault your swings lack strength," Jresh countered.

"Maybe I was trying not to severely injure my partner before a test of said strength," Lorrik countered back.

Jresh offer a light scoff. "Do I look like someone who wishes to be coddled?"

"No," Lorrik replied. "But you look like someone who wants to win. Its evidently hard to do that with a wounded sternum."

"True victory lies not after a single battle," Jresh offered.

"Yes, but an untrue defeat is still a defeat so long as it remains so in the eyes of the one person whose opinion matters in the end."

"Yourself?"

"Lord Syrosk. Being a winner on the inside isn't going to help us become apprentices."

"Is such a thing all that matters to you?" Jresh asked.

"At this juncture? Yes. Very much." Lorrik answered. "As acolytes, you and I are pretty much worthless. No amount of strength, skill, or knowledge will permit you greatness so long as you go unnoticed by your superiors."

"You do indeed speak the truth. A Sith Lord needs to prove himself to those around him rather than sate his own ego. But to bend and grovel at the feet of my new master… that will not earn me strength."

"I wouldn't dare suggest such a thing. I sense that you are a strong and capable individual, but that can only get you so far in Sith society. You've reached the peak of what an acolyte can achieve, but if you intend to take things to the next level, you will require a certain… charisma."

"And steadily lose whatever power I have gained whilst I become preoccupied with adopting a silver tongue? My body and mind have spent years under the brutal scrutiny of training. If I must rely on deceit to solve my problem, I am not worthy of calling myself a Sith."

"That, my friend, is where you are wrong," Lorrik warmly stated. "Ragnos. Sadow. Kressh. Nadd. Kun. Malak. Traya. Lords of the True Sith and its splintered sects. All of them knew that every problem could not be solved through genuine displays of strength and wit alone. A certain dark cunning will always be required for a Sith to prosper. Honestly, what were they teaching you back during your warrior training?"

"Most of the instructors could not care less of such prospects," Jresh muttered. "We were conditioned for battle. Tests of strength and the merit gained with it. Matters of the past were of no concern to us. We sought only to look toward the future. Obviously the inquisitors received a different regiment."

"Curiously enough, not that different. Matters of history were often painted with broad strokes, giving only enough insight to fuel visions toward the future. All of what I consider true knowledge and insight I had to learn from external sources… those datacards you saw."

"I would say the same, but warriors ultimately lacked access to such things. Since the earliest years of my enrollment in the Academy, I have sought power away from the confines of the halls. I have sought knowledge away from the limited instructors. I knew that there was more to being a Sith than what was being presented to me after all these years. Having met you… and Lord Syrosk… it seems my worries were not unfounded. Do you recall, after manners of introductions and names, the first thing we spoke of?"

"I asked you what you cared about, didn't I?"

"Correct. And we came to an understanding that neither or us sought the easy path to prominence. I asked for someone who could challenge me in a way that the instructors could not. And I accepted you, believing you could provide that challenge. I have had no regrets regarding that decision as of yet. But underlying that very interaction was another notion. The notion of what it means to be a Sith. I have found faults with this Academy. And its peoples. And its codes. I have witnessed you. Open-minded. Sociable. Caring. As we continue to proceed, I ask myself… are we Sith? It is a strange prospect. But to be a Sith is a strange thing in and of itself. Sith… is strength. Sith… is knowledge. Sith…. is freedom. Sith… is control. Sith… is history. Sith… is future. Sith… is fact. Sith… is fiction. Sith… is contradiction. Let me ask you this, if Lord Syrosk told you that your final task was to take my life, what would you do?"

Lorrik stirred as he lay against the dusty bed of stone beneath him. His relaxed visage had begun to pace between thoughts.

"I… I don't know," Lorrik muttered.

The Pureblood offered a firm nod. "Good. That I believe, is the answer of a true Sith. Not the absence of knowledge, but the presence of personal will. For each task given, there is no immediate answer. No pre-defined course of action. Every Sith must deal with each occurrence only after they themselves have weighed their options. Count your wants and needs. Direct yourself. That is what separates us from the Jedi. Beyond the politics. Beyond the philosophies. There is one simple distinction. They are bound. We are not. Jedi are bound by their codes, bound by their masters. Once they reject them, they can no longer call themselves Jedi. But us… to reject what makes someone a Sith, can in fact cement one's status as Sith. We challenge. We overcome. When you attempt to supersede your master, are you cast out? Not if you are victorious. Instead, you are rewarded. Who's to say the same won't happen if we challenge the supposedly set in stone ideals that the Sith have followed for centuries. So long as we are victorious in the end, we are what defines being a Sith. That is why I have chosen an honorable path. It suits me. It gives me strength. And as long as that strength earns me victory, no one will dare say that I am not worthy of the Sith."

"And what if along that path you find victory unattainable?" Lorrik asked with a hint of provocation. Jresh turned to his partner to see that he had risen from his flat stance, sitting up at the cliff's edge. "The fact is, you aren't the strongest. And I'll admit I'm not the most knowledgeable. Alone, I'm just a guy with who has read a few books and attempts witty comments. And you're just a guy with a code of honor who falls down a lot in battle."

Jresh looked to his partner, offering the arch of his brow. "What are you trying to say?"

"That in the end, no matter how much you train, you'll still be struck down by a better warrior. And no matter how much I study, I'll be surpassed by a more ruthless inquisitor. Unless… unless we work together," Lorrik stated.

"I assure you, I had no intention of working against our partnership," Jresh replied.

"No. We need something more," Lorrik said, lacking his usual warmth. "The other students, they just see their partners as tools to further their goals. If we want to achieve our goals, we cannot simply tolerate one another. We must work together at every turn. Share our knowledge. Share our power. Bolster each other while other acolytes are too busy playing games of pride."

"A Sith willing to share his knowledge? You truly are different from the others."

"Well, it's like you said. From this point forth, we define what it means to be Sith. Together, we can achieve that which we never could alone."

"So we are to rely on each other. I could only imagine how the instructors would respond to that notion," Jresh muttered, showing a flair of positivity that Lorrik had not seen until this point.

"Other Sith refuse to rely on something because they don't want to have to face the challenge of losing it. And yet, we rely on our lightsaber, because it makes us strong. We rely on the Force, because it makes us strong. Rely on me, Jresh, and I will help deliver you to greatness." Lorrik ended his words by jutting his right fist for emphasis.

Jresh responded not with words, but with the subtle extension of his hand. The inquisitor took hold and raised himself alongside the warrior. Lorrik could see that the Pureblood possessed something almost resembling a smile.

"What are your intentions?" Jresh asked, eyes locked with his partner.

"What? You think I have an ulterior motive?" Lorrik replied.

"No, what is your goal? Working together, we must each have an objective. What is it you want most, years from now, when you have achieved greatness?"

The Human puzzled over the question in his head for a few moments. "To unlock the secrets of the Force. To eventually possess enough knowledge that I'll finally be able to make a difference in this Empire."

"A fine ambition."

"And you?"

"Do you know of the Sith'ari?" Jresh asked. Lorrik was a little taken aback by the suggestion. The word held special meaning amongst any who would enter the Academy. Any who would call themselves Sith.

"A prophesized figure. Perfect being. Fulfilled potential. Free of all restrictions. The Lord of Lords. The Sith to end all Sith. That Sith'ari?"

"Yes. I intend to take that title."

Lorrik offered a quick chuckle. "You certainly don't set your standards low."

"Exactly. That is why I seek it," Jresh confidently stated. "I have set upon myself a goal that most would deem impossible and could not even be validated until long after my death. Any less of a goal, and I could become content with its accomplishment, but not this one. With this, I have no peak. I have no final stretch. It will always be just beyond my grasp, and that is how I want it."

"So you, the fabled Sith'ari. And me, securer of a high leveled position of power. Quite the ambitious duo. Though, some would prefer the term foolish."

"Some of the greatest deeds throughout history have been fueled by foolishness."

"I won't argue with that," Lorrik replied. Standing next to Jresh, the two looked out at the unforgiving terrain of Korriban that preceded their gaze. "So. This is the moment in which things finally change. Not the years of study, the countless trials, nor the promise of apprenticeship, but the pact between two Sith. It's strange. All my life, I sought to leave this place. To ascend to the point in which I was never burdened by the guidance of others. Born into slavery and delivered to the Academy. Constantly seeking the approval of instructors. At no point in my life have I experienced anything close to resembling freedom. And yet here on this confined peak, after entering what amounts to a lifelong agreement with a fellow Sith, I feel most free."

"If you seek freedom, I shall oblige you with that request," Jresh stated. "For now, let us return to the Academy. We can eat and prepare for tomorrow's trial."

With one final moment of reflection, Lorrik turned away from the vista and accompanied his partner back to the halls of the Academy.


	12. 1-11 Partisans

**Chapter Eleven: Partisans**

_Lorrik Velash's Journal: Day Two, Entry One. _

_I've decided to take up a journal. Something in which to document my thoughts. Why? I'm not entirely sure. Curiously enough, I've never kept one before, and now that I actually have someone I know will listen to me, I still feel the need to make audio logs. _

_I had a hard time figuring out which dating system I was going to go by. The Galactic Standard and Korriban's cycle have a tendency to get out of sync. Since this is a personal endeavor, I figured I would adopt a new system based on the first day of study under Lord Syrosk. This might complicate matters when the transition from acolyte to apprentice occurs, but who knows? I might not even have this journal by then. _

_It amuses me that I still think it is a given that I'll achieve apprenticeship. After today's show, I don't think I garnered any favors with Lord Syrosk. But there's this funny feeling inside. Today I was bluntly faced with my inadequacies. It took a lot out of me. But Jresh, he reignited something. Something I thought I had lost long ago. A drive. _

_Before, I was content with study, but never found myself thinking more than a week forward aside from the occasional drifting thoughts that popped up when daydreaming. But now, not only do I have a goal beyond getting off this rock, I have a friend. A friend who dreams of the impossible. _

_I can only assume Jresh knows the fullness of what the Sith'ari is supposed to be. I mean… it is HIS language. Beyond the notions of a perfect being, there is legend of its actions. To destroy the Sith, all in order to make it stronger. A curious notion. Especially in a time of war. Patriotism is certainly an odd thing for the Empire. At least, amongst the Force users. I suppose you promise someone enough reward and they can look past that whole 'seize power at any opportunity' thing that seems all the rage. _

_The Sith, the Empire, has provided me much throughout my life, and not everything good. I often imagine how my life might have differed if I had stayed a slave. Not knowing the potential that rested within me. Or if I had been 'liberated' by the Republic. Would I chasten myself amongst the Jedi? Would I drift amongst the lower realms of some ecumenopolis, garbed in rags? My life under the Sith has been brutal, but I can't argue with some of the results. But I cannot in good conscience say they cannot be improved. _

_A great many confusing things dominate the realm of politics. I have studied, in passing, the circumstances of the Great War, as well as the characteristics of the two main participants. The more knowledge I manage to procure in regards to the war, the more I find myself surprised. The Galactic Republic should have easily been able to defeat its invaders through various actions not taken. _

_Incompetence amongst its policy makers. Indecision amongst its defenders. Seeing so mighty an Order unable to defend itself gives great cause for support in the Empire's methods. Corruption spread amongst the weak-willed and covetous politicians. And the 'incorruptible' Knights of the Republic found themselves unable to protect their realm. _

_So here I am, faced with these facts. The Republic is flawed and weak. The Empire is flawed, but ultimately strong. If the Republic manages to win the war, my life will be in danger. If the Empire wins the war, my life will still be in danger. I've come to terms with this lifestyle. _

_In the end, how these events affect me matters little. I shall come to adapt to whatever comes my way. What is more important, is how I will affect these events. What are Lord Syrosk's intentions regarding the conflict? Will we have a part to play in this war's continuation or conclusion? How long will the war go on? Our training is far from complete, perhaps the war will be over before we can even get off Korriban. No one here is certain whether the war will last one year or one hundred. _

_Perhaps the war should continue. Makes it easier to rise through the ranks when your superiors die on the battlefield every so often. Might even open up a few seats on the Dark Council. Now that's something I wouldn't mind having. That's practically the only moment in which you start having the capability to change the way this Empire works. _

_Is that what I'd have to get to in order to achieve my goal? A spot on the Dark Council? I'd say even that is optimistic. If we're going to reformat the Sith, we need to go straight to the top. The Emperor himself. You know, only after say this all aloud do I truly realize the ridiculousness of what Jresh and I have set for ourselves. Then again that was probably his intention. Insurmountable goal. Never stop trying. _

_But how could you live knowing that you will devote your entire life to something you know you cannot obtain? Maybe he doesn't know he cannot attain it. Or maybe he actually can. No. It'd be impossible. There's not even such a thing as a Sith'ari. It's just a meaningless title for powerful warriors to bicker over. But still, Jresh possesses a genuine ingenuity. Who am I to say he can't accomplish what he has set out to do so long as he tries? A sane person. That's who I am. _

_Maybe that's the problem. This galaxy isn't meant for the sane. Become a fool, and a fool's errand is just another errand. If the task is impossible for him, then I shall render aid. I promised him support. Mostly just as sentiment. But what if? _

_In the very minor library of secrets I have procured, I have witnessed a vast array of capabilities with the Force. Maybe that is it? That is what will allow us to attain our goals. After all, it says it right there, 'The Force shall free me'. And what is it I desire if not freedom? Knowledge. Yes. Definitely knowledge. _

_I will learn the secrets of the Force. Beyond what any sect or order could possibly teach me. I will share this knowledge with Jresh. I will forge him into something greater than this Academy or Syrosk could ever muster. I am content with study. It is the root of anything I could possibly consider power for myself. But Jresh, he's got ambition. And honestly, I want to see where it takes him. _

_It'll be entertaining none the less._


	13. 1-12 Musings

**Chapter Twelve: Musings**

Jresh and Lorrik awoke the next morning to a curious advisement. A blinking notice on their datapads revealed a message from their master. A change of venue. It seemed the next meeting would be held instead in the lecture hall where the two Sith had first met. The warrior knew that full combat practices were forbidden within this particular venue, so the day's challenge would be of a different nature than the previous one. The inquisitor's thoughts could barely venture past the notion of a cooler venue than a hilltop exterior to the Academy. Still early in the morning, the acolytes readied themselves for the day ahead before meeting in the suite's common room.

"The old lecture hall, huh," Lorrik stated, sparking a conversation. "Wonder what trials are in store for us today."

"Seeing as to how yesterday's activities centered on our physical capabilities, I would assume our master has something more mental in store for us today," Jresh replied.

"Makes sense. How are you doing by the way? All healed up?" Lorrik asked, expressing a genuine emotional investment.

"A little soreness persists, but a quick round of rest and meditation seems to have done away with most of my wounds."

The Human gently scratched his chin. "Meditation, eh? Didn't take you warriors for the meditative type. Usually it's all rage and shouting with your kin."

"It is something of a departure, I admit. I have always eschewed wearing my emotions as a mask, as the first thing people see. My passions are my own and I need not put them on display to prove myself Sith. I need not keep them at the surface to draw upon their strength."

"Sounds like what Syrosk was trying to tell Nesk."

"In a way, yes. I possess something of a distaste for chaos. Order. Control. I find power within these things."

"A curious notion," Lorrik stated. "Like you said, Sith is contradiction, as evident by its odd penchant for chaotic order."

"Chaotic order," Jresh repeated. "Yes, an apt description. Continuous change, guided by a maneuvering hand."

"And there I find myself drawn back to our beginning. By almost all accounts, we aren't fit to be Sith. No offense intended on your part. A calm, collected warrior and a kind, empathetic inquisitor."

"The Sith breed conflict. Strife. Challenge. We are doing our part as much as any other acolyte. And in the end do we still not believe in the Sith code?"

"I suppose so, but with each passing day in the place I find less and less to believe in. I was lucky to have met you when I did, lest I lose any semblance of hope."

"So what, at this very moment, do you believe in?" Jresh asked. The inquisitor met the question with an extended silence.

"Hey," Lorrik began. "We have more than a few hours before we're needed in the lecture hall. I don't know about you, but I could use a meal. How about I cook up some morning foodstuffs, and we have something of a philosophical discussion. You know, to prepare us for our meeting later."

The Pureblood gently stroked the fleshy tendril that hung from his cheek. "Syrosk did say we should get to know each other. I don't know if that pertains to philosophy…"

"Answer me this. Do you find the discussion of the subject boring or tiresome?"

"Somewhat."

"Then consider this me challenging you, in my own special way," Lorrik warmly stated.

Jresh accepted Lorrik's proposal with dutiful conviction. Reading his companion, the inquisitor hurriedly, and with glee, made his way to the suite's kitchen area. Jresh took a seat at his desk, curiously watching the Human parade around the room as he made preparations.

"You seem rather excited, Lorrik," Jresh stated, unable to particularly understand the inquisitor's emotions.

"Did you ever get the chance to cook your own food in the years past?" Lorrik pleasantly asked as he peered into the conservator.

"I can't say I did."

"Me neither."

"Are you… capable of preparing a meal?"

"Oh, yeah! You see, over the course of my many years trying to collect various tomes of Sith and Force related knowledge, I came across some less than profound texts here and there. Of note, were the many cookbooks that seemed to fall in my lap. At an early age, I thought I would need a hobby to distract myself from the happenings of the Academy, and I figured cooking to be more than suitable to my tastes. If you'll pardon the pun."

The warrior watched his partner dash around the kitchen rummaging through wall-bound cabinets and pantries, taking in the information of all the ingredients as his disposal. "But have you actually prepared a meal?"

"A couple of times. But, as you can imagine resources are rather scarce for a lowly acolyte. Funny story. I once prepared a meal for a classmate. Jora. Cooked up some K'lor'slug eggs. Bad idea. Misread the data. Turns out their species' poisonous parts develop rather early in the gestation period. It took a while to convince her I wasn't actively trying to make her ill. Learned that around here, you need to learn what not to do wrong rather than what to do right much earlier."

"So what do you plan of making today?" Jresh plainly asked.

"Not quite sure yet. Never had this much choice in my life. Oddly prudent. It seems we have the necessary ingredients for some flatcakes. Sound good?"

"I suppose," Jresh replied, rather dubiously.

Lorrik went fast to work, with Jresh watching from across the suite with subtle curiosity. As time passed, Lorrik found himself utterly engrossed in his activities, drawing upon his own passions as he stove-cooked a thin layer of batter laying in a pan. After a predetermined amount of time, the inquisitor focused and flipped the half-cooked flatcake over telekinetically. Lorrik grinned at how effortlessly he was accomplishing the task he had set out upon. In the end, there rest two stacks of three flatcakes upon separate plates. Adorned with various imported fruits and accompanied with a dispenser of syrup, Lorrik was ready to serve his first true meal.

Jresh studied the dish laid before him. Squishy slabs of bread lay stacked on a black plate. Topped with a powdery substance and a selection of berries, the meal seemed to be trying its hardest to contradict its atmosphere. Eschewing his purely visual examination, the Sith grasped the top flatcake and gingerly lifted it to study what might rest between the breaded layers before being interrupted by Lorrik handing him a fork and container of syrup.

"I'm not sure what particular kind of syrup that is," Lorrik stated. "So I wouldn't go pouring it over the whole thing. Maybe put some in the corner and you can dip a bite in to see if you like it." With his words of advice, the inquisitor placed his own food and fixings upon his desk, and set down ready to partake in his work.

Jresh grasped the fork in his hand with a clenched fist, unsure of how to partake in the food placed before him. Peering over, he closely studied the Human as he took his first bite. Seeing a look of delight grace the inquisitor's face, the warrior decided to mimic the cook's actions.

"So, how do you like it?" Lorrik asked, mouth half full of food.

Jresh offered no immediate response as he slowly churned the flatcakes within his mouth, carefully analyzing and processing the new sensory information that flooding his brain. Upon swallowing, the warrior seemed no less puzzled than in the moments leading up to the meal. "What is this powdery substance?"

"Sugar. I suppose acolytes don't have much access to it." A renewed smile graced Lorrik's visage as he saw his companion slowly return to partaking in the meal he had prepared. The acolytes dug into their meal in silence for a few minutes before Lorrik chimed in.

"So. Philosophy," Lorrik began, waving his fork around in lieu of hand gestures. "Where should we start? Sith code? Sounds good. So… peace is a lie, there is only passion. As good a foundation as any, but I see some problems with it."

"Such as?"

"Well, peace. I'd say we're pretty peaceful, by comparison anyway. I'm not one to pick fights. You have a knack for meditation. We seem to find an enjoyment in peace."

"It all depends of how you define it. What is peace?" Jresh asked.

"Well, it's a lie. It's right there in the code, right? The infallible code," Lorrik muttered.

"Since when do you believe in infallibility."

"I don't, but certain Sith of prominence certainly do."

"We aren't those Sith."

"Right. We're those other Sith. Those Sith who are Sith by nature of not being Sith."

"You realized the more you say that the more it loses meaning."

"And yet, that's what we're searching for. Meaning. What does it mean, peace is a lie? For us."

"I don't think peace is being calm and collected. I don't think peace is restraint. Peace is merely the absence of conflict."

"Makes sense," Lorrik said. "The first to embrace the Sith doctrine were simply Dark Jedi who had turned away from the Order. In the beginning it was simply a reactionary response to the Jedi Code. They strive for peace. The elimination of conflict. We, on the other hand, enable conflict. And reap its rewards as well as its punishments."

"Conflict is just as ill-defined a term as peace," Jresh replied. "The mind of the average Sith immediately leaps to war, and the many instances of infighting and duels to the death that plague the system. Which I despise."

"But not conflict."

"Indeed. I believe that conflict breeds superior strength. I also believe that conflict can be brought about and controlled in such a way that it doesn't inevitably destroy its instigator. I am not a simple minded killer. I do not murder my 'allies' in their sleep. I do not terminate every obstacle that lies in front of me."

"So, if you met a Jedi on the battlefield, then what?" Lorrik asked.

"We would do battle until one of us could no longer continue," Jresh answered. "If an enemy lie at my feet, broken and defeated on their knees, that it how I would leave them, not decapitated in a pool of their own blood."

"But what if they should recover and seek revenge?"

"Good."

"Good?"

"That is my vision of conflict," Jresh bluntly stated. "Two forces come into contact. The superior force prevails while the weaker one retreats to rebuild its strength in the hopes of someday proving itself stronger in a future clash. Killing a strong enemy removes their influence from your life. Removes the countless challenges and conflicts that would bring to you. Only when my own life were in danger of being extinguished would I utterly strike down an opponent. Let them retreat. Let them fester in their hate and scheme of revenge. Let them continue to challenge me. As they gain strength, so do I."

Lorrik offered a brief, subtle nod. "Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Peace inhibits emotion and evolution. Conflict promotes such things. With emotion comes the spark that drives progress and improvement. Through passion, I gain strength. I probably think of strength as you do with peace. An ill-defined term but infinitely sought after. I feel most Sith put an emphasis on physical strength. And those that do value mental acuity typically take it a few steps too far. Strength isn't just the ability to overpower your opponent. I seek knowledge as my strength. But knowledge in and of itself is not strength, just as pure physical capability isn't. There's a culmination of the body, mind, and spirit. Physical, mental, and the connecting of them with personal skills."

"Through strength, I gain power," Jresh continued. "Power is freedom. Power is control."

"Power is the ability to influence those around you. The ability to be strong enough to direct the action of others, while resisting the influence of those who would direct you."

"Power pertains to the beginning of the self's ability to shape the world around it," Jresh explained. "Passion and strength are drawn from and consolidated in the person. Power is utilizing those internal aspects and manifesting them in the external realm. It is not as simple as the ability to defeat your enemies and keep your allies in line. It is understanding the forces that you encounter throughout your life, and driving those forces in the direction of your goals."

"Through power, I gain victory," Lorrik recited.

"Victory. Evidence of success."

"Validation of one's goals and desires. To be victorious is to prove your way of life is worth following. Worth continuing."

"Defeat reveals our inadequacies," Jresh stated. "And weakens the foundations of our tenets. Thus we must always strive for victory. Defeat is inevitable and cannot be utterly avoided."

"But so long as we try. As we stay determined to prove ourselves. Our strength. Our power. Victory is never beyond our grasp," Lorrik said with a confident smile.

"And therefore we must grasp it. Grasp victory and reap its rewards. Through victory, my chains are broken."

"And whether we realize it or not. We are chained. By our masters. By the Empire. By the Republic. By ourselves. I was a born into slavery. Given a glimpse of hope when the Academy accepted me. I was promised that I could break my shackles by proving myself. By fighting. By learning. By ascending. With defeat, my mind is chained by the reemergence of every inadequacy that rested deep within my mental confines. But if I am victorious… I will be free."

"And never doubt that you can be victorious. As a Pureblood I should have… I was born into place of prominence. Ready to rise through the ranks of the Academy and become a great warrior. But still I was chained. Limiters plagued my life. I could train. And train. And train. But still I would not be the strongest. If I am victorious, my chains will loosen. If I am defeated, the chains will tighten, pushing me to lash out and attain victory once again."

"And I'll be here to lend a hand. Together we'll move forward. Bound, but not in chains. My strength is your strength. And yours is mine. Knowledge and skill reflecting upon one another until no mere chains can restrain us."

"The Force shall set me free."

"The Force shall set us free."


	14. 1-13 Reflections

**Chapter Thirteen: Reflections**

_Lorrik Velash's Journal: Day Three, Entry Two. _

_Finished another day of training, if you can call it that. Had one of the best morning's I think I've ever had in all my years of the Academy. Waking up in a soft bed. At a reasonable hour. Followed by a long, hot shower. Refreshing to say the least. And not just to my body. I'd say the last few days have had a most profoundly positive effect on my mental state. _

_It's weird. Most of the time I managed to just skirt by, doing the bare minimum, saving my hide from expulsion or death. It's been a while since I've been actually challenged and responded in earnest. _

_Yesterday brought about a cascade of emotions, both positive and negative. Having to strike Jresh, having watch his defeat, having to suffer my own. It brought about thoughts I thought I had long since laid to rest. Horrible thoughts. About myself. About my place in this world. _

_But in the end, I think it did me some good. It didn't have what one might consider goals or ambitions. I simply thought, hey, if it can be learned maybe I'll give it a look at some point. I would gather and examine holobooks, recordings, texts, for no real reason. I guess I was bettering myself in the process but the notion never really clicked in my mind. _

_But after today, I think I've finally come to the realization I had been searching for all this time. A purpose. I never really saw a place for me in the Empire, but I couldn't see myself anywhere else either. Now, I see myself capable great deeds alongside Jresh. _

_Syrosk had gathered us into the lecture hall to test our mental acumen today. Walking away from it, it finally feels like me and Jresh came out ahead. Isorr and Arlia are knowledgeable in most matter Sith, but their words barely seemed capable of holding Syrosk's attention. Nesk seemed utterly incapable of constructing a completed thought since he wasn't being physically challenged. I think Vurt said all of ten words all day, none not addressing the master. _

_Kar'ai and Ryloh were a surprise though. The Rattataki seems a curious embodiment of the warrior spirit. It's like she has little concern outside of matters of physicality. When questioned on codes, histories, and beliefs, she was utterly dismissive. However, there were moments when the situation arose that one of the other students would disagree with some minute thing she had said. _

_In that moment, something ignited within her visage. A spark of intrigue. She is a fighter in the basest of meanings. Kar'ai had little concern for discussions of philosophy or politics, until that is, she was challenged. At which she, she drew upon some hidden dispensary of knowledge, giving her some sort of insight that might allow her to 'win' an argument that didn't involve the clashing of blades. Her Twi'lek partner fit into this equation with similar curiousness. _

_There were times when Kar'ai would find herself speechless, ignorant of whatever topic was currently being conversed. In those moments, Ryloh would offer hints, whispers into the warrior's ears. What followed were oddly astute and academic observations stemming from the Rattataki's lips. _

_Then Ryloh would return to obscurity. He wanted nothing of attention, praise, or acclamation. He would selflessly offer his knowledge to Kar'ai, and seemingly expect nothing in return. I suppose I am not as different from other students as I once expected. A curious development. _

_Ryloh belonged to a separate class of inquisitors than I. I had heard little of his accomplishments, and I made a habit of keeping tabs on the other students during my days as an acolyte. How he has managed to stay under the radar all these years is a matter than intrigues me. Handsome face. Overtly alien species. Sharp mind. Capable fighter. _

_These are not characteristics that go unnoticed by one's classmates. Was Kar'ai the first to notice him? Truly appreciate his talents? Or was he the one who decided that after all this time he ought make himself known? Perhaps he was like me and sought something beyond the status of acolyte, intrigued by the prospect of an apprenticeship. Like me. _

_Is that where my intrigue lies? In someone who so remarkably mirrors my own situation leading up to and seemingly continuing under the training of a new master. What is his relationship with Kar'ai. Is she using him? Is he elevating her of his own accord? It would seem these two warrant my attention just as much, if not more than the more dangerous couples. _

_Speaking of which, Jresh and Isorr butt heads again. I have no doubt that Arlia and him will be our main competition for getting the apprenticeship. Nesk and Vurt seem too destructive to themselves to stay focused enough to earn Syrosk's favor. But Isorr and Arlia are utterly capable of destruction, but possess the added benefit of cold, calculating minds powering their physically capable bodies. _

_The two warriors went at it much like their duel the other day. Brutal, impactful, dedicated. Yet simply with words did they fight, never rising from their seats, never raising their voice, never losing control. Any who looked upon them could see the passions flare as their each every word left their mouths with utter calculation, not one word misspoken. _

_Jresh raised points very similar to the ones we had discussed this morning over breakfast. Isorr was completely dedicated to his traditional interpretation of the Sith Code. Every once in a while there would be a break for me and Arlia to get our own words in. The sharp contrast in tone and emphasis with the warriors was almost staggering. Me and her had been involved in similar bouts before. It was in the nature of inquisitor training. At this point, battles of the spoken word are little more than games to us. _

_She is a peculiar one as well. I don't think I've met as manipulative a student as Arlia. I've always been great at reading other people, seeing their emotional state, uncovering their intentions. But with her, I literally cannot tell the truth from fabrication. And that is something that scares me. Just as Jresh has met his physical match in the Zabrak, I have encountered my mental quarry. Normally I'd welcome any challenge of the mind, but there things I cannot wrap my head around. _

_Given the couple's traditional Sith nature, it stands to reason that one of them is the dominant of the two. One of them had to have made concessions upon entering the partnership. But whom? Both of them exude the idea that they have allowed the other to partake in their excellence. Honestly, I'd prefer it if Isorr were the greater threat. Because of all I've seen, he's honest. He'll tell you how he feels about you to your face, often without provocation. Arlia, every word uttered carries an ulterior motive. A hidden meaning. _

_Which in the end, confounds me. What is her goal? If everything she has said and done was a fabrication, what truth lies underneath? Are all the lies and manipulations just a means to an end rather than an inherent personality. Are there truths in her lies. Lies in her truths. She's combative one moment. Kind the next. Which is the true emotion? Maybe both. Maybe neither. _

_I should despise her. Yet, I respect her. I've seen the way the Academy and its student usually operate. She is performing at beyond the threshold of typical success. Regardless of the Empire's views on lesser aliens, a female Twi'lek of her appearance could bend the wills of males with much quicker results than what she has done in the past. She has proven herself manipulative, yet has shown that some tactics appear completely absent from her repertoire. Why has someone who has shown that they would do anything to succeed, held something back? _

_This is the moment when things finally get real. Long have I thought myself capable of peering into the minds of others. Seeing what they see, knowing what they feel. Yet, here I stand, incapable of figuring out the other acolytes vying for Syrosk's attention. All along I thought myself above the other acolytes in typical Sith fashion. But now I find myself surrounded by remarkable individuals, the master in particular. _

_Earlier in my attendance of the Academy, one always knew where they stood. Instructors made clear their favor of particular students, particular behaviors. Performances were graded. Practice battle had clear outcomes, with clear consequences. Debates and quizzes had clear right and wrong answers. But now, all of that has been thrown out for Syrosk's training. _

_It's difficult to read him, more so than the other students. Perhaps it is because of my limited interaction with Sith Lords, but he was not what I was expecting. His manner of testing feels nothing like what I had expected of him. And I still have trouble deciphering was he approves and disapproves of. The first day, when we all met, there was talk. Just talk. And then he gave us all a bunch of free stuff. _

_An apparent disconnect between his words and his actions are a strange mindset that I won't be understanding anytime soon. Then we had the exchange of items. He would gaze upon a mere token, and gather from it in depth knowledge. In the end, even with my situation, he expressed little in the way of approval or disapproval. _

_Then came the duels. More words. More insight. More ambiguity. When he spoke with me, it felt almost like there was some negativity to his words. But also those of reinforcement, to push me on. Then the discussions today. He did little to make his own preferences and ideals known. He would just do his best to make sure there was never a lull in the conversation, probably to make sure we didn't have time to plan responses. _

_He wanted to know how we truly felt and how we articulated those thoughts. Again, nothing we said garnered approval or disapproval. He most likely doesn't want us to conform to his ideals. He wants to measure our capabilities in their rawest form, untouched by the idea of manipulation to gain the master's favor. _

_The only reason I saw me and Jresh earn some points today was the way he watched us. He seemed to understand and digest the other students' words with relative ease, but with us, it was like he was actively studying us. While I can't say for certain such a thing is positive, from what little I know about the master, he seems to enjoy being surprised. Hopefully, we were able to keep his attention long enough to make up for our defeats the previous day. _

_Somewhat looking forward to tomorrow. Syrosk said that our bodies and minds had been tested, and now it was time for the same to be done with our spirits. If the test involves the Force, it seems the ball is yet again in the court of the inquisitors, but then again, nothing is ever what it seems with him._


	15. 1-14 Forces

**Chapter Fourteen: Forces**

Day four of training. Korriban. Exterior. Midday. Tepid. The eight students stood in standard formation as they were burdened by the continuing stare of their master a short distance in front of them.

Lord Syrosk paced back and forth as he gathered his thoughts. "You all faced your first trial of the body. Some were victorious. Some were not. But in the end you were tested. You all faced your first trial of the mind. Some of you proved intelligent. Some wise. Others wallowed in silence. But in the end you were tested. Now. On this hill, you face your first trial of the spirit. I'm sure you all hold your individual outlook upon that word. Others know it by one of its numerous names. Spirit. Willpower. Soul. One's connection to the Force. Like before, some of you will be victorious. Others will not. And in the end you will be tested."

Without another word, the Sith Lord walked into the center of the ancient dueling circle that lay a short distance away. The students did not budge from their standing positions without expressed consent from their master.

"Everyone, make yourselves to the circle's edge and stand there, equally spread out."

The students hurriedly complied. Each duo took themselves to a cornered position before spreading out creating an octagonal pattern with each student standing on the precipice of the circle. Lorrik studied the peculiar situation. Jresh stood a short distance to his right. Isorr a short distance to his left. An equal distance separated each student, who stood the same distance from the master's central point.

"A Sith must know how to draw upon forces that will ensure their victory,  
Syrosk rasped. "Passions fuel our physical strength. Cunning broadens our mental capacities. But to bolster one's spirit, one must meet a force with superior force. You must be challenged, and you must overcome said challenge. And I will be the one to challenge you. For the first time, I will be directly opposing you, not your fellow students. Your challenge, is to be the first to lay a hand upon my person. First to do so wins a free day for them and their companion. You may begin."

The students all hesitated, unsure of how exactly to proceed. Seemingly a test of speed, but the acolytes knew better. The master was equally surrounded, and yet he stood with his usual casual pose, arms folded behind his back. Still the figures stood unmoving, no one willing to make the first motion, perhaps jeopardizing their chances of success.

Ryloh was the first to finally break the tension. One careful, calculated step toward Syrosk was all he could take before he found himself drug to the ground. As the Twi'lek lay flat on his front, he struggled to raise himself with his arms. As Kar'ai took a step forward to investigate, she too was overwhelmed by an oppressive downward force washing over her, bringing her to her knees.

One by one the acolytes entered the circle toward their master, only to be met with the same force. Looking up from the ground on which he now lay, Lorrik gazed into the visage of Syrosk. What he witnessed was a countenance of pure concentration. The Sith Lord was actively forcing the students down.

Slowly being crushed under their own weight, each student tried their best to inch toward the master and grasp victory for themselves. The warriors proved less affected, able to stay standing or upon one knee, but could not hold to take more than a single step every several seconds. The inquisitors tried to move forward in their own special way. Keeping low, Vurt began to crawl ever so slowly. Arlia dug her training saber's tip into the ground, using it as a lever to slowly drag herself forward.

Lorrik and Jresh moved forward, slowly and anything but surely. Jresh remained standing while his partner lie to his side, prone, his digits digging into the Korriban dirt. The oppressive weight upon them intensified as each student drew ever closer to the epicenter. Eventually, the force was too much to bear and Jresh was forced to the ground. Individually, each student tried their best to reach Syrosk, but none proved capable of surpassing the master's superior will. As Lorrik lay next to his companion, he was all but sure that it was hopeless for him to continue forward, but still he looked on as Jresh clawed himself forward. Looking around, a feat he was barely capable of at the moment, Lorrik saw that Isorr and Nesk were ahead of them.

The inquisitor envisioned defeat, stewed the idea over in his mind's eye. He would not have it this day. But Lorrik's body was physically unable to continue. He knew that he had to rely on Jresh to succeed. And with that knowledge, came realization. Using his last bit of strength, Lorrik lay his outstretched hand upon his companion's pant leg. Looking back, Jresh saw his partner bearing a determined look in his eye, and his mouth silently preparing him for an upcoming action.

The duo readied themselves. Lorrik concentrated and let loose a primal howl, thrusting his hands forward. Jresh matched his partner in voice, but not in action. The warrior instead put all his energy into one final surge forward. The inquisitor put all his energy into propelling his partner forward with the Force.

Finally, with his companion's telekinetic assistance, Jresh flung past the final stretch and lay his right hand upon Syrosk's right ankle. As soon at the contact was confirmed, the forceful field dissipated, each student writhing upon the ground as they regained control of their bodies.

"It would appear we have our winners," Syrosk stated, his soft admission barely audible over the student's exasperated breathing. "Rise my students."

Slowly, each student arose, lest they attract the ire inherent in disobeying their master. Jresh returned to Lorrik's side, not bearing any overt positive emotions, but definitely filled with a sense of accomplishment.

Syrosk cast his sharpened gaze upon the successful pair. "It would seem that these two have learned much from my teachings. Your test only required a single person to touch me to succeed, and yet you each pressed on as individuals. When Lorrik saw himself incapable of accomplishing a task, he lent his strength to the more powerful Jresh. In the end, it matters not if you hold on to your pride if you are unable to attain victory. As a Sith, you must be willing to do what it takes to succeed, even if it goes against your precious sense of self-importance. Now, we are going to try again, and now that you know the answer, expect the question to be much harder. Jresh, Lorrik, you may return to the Academy."

"Sir," Jresh spoke up. "I wish to train as much as possible. I would like to continue the trials up here rather than have a day off."

"Who's to say your training for the day is complete? You and your partner have simply moved beyond this task," Syrosk firmly stated. "You have the day to yourselves, now your task is deciding on how to utilize it."

Jresh hesitantly accepted his master's wishes. With Lorrik by his side, the duo began walking the return path to the Academy as the other students reset to their positions surrounding the circle.

"Look, I understand how the prospect of free time is abhorrent to you, so what would you like to do for the rest of the day?" Lorrik asked with characteristic pleasantness.

"Today was a test of the spirit, it is only right that I continue along that line."

"How do you suppose we do that?"

"I'm not sure. I will probably return to the suite to meditate."

"That sounds reasonable. Might find some insight. Dwell on the Force. That sort of thing. I might join you later."

"Later? You have plans?"

"Well, our kitchen stock wasn't exactly plentiful. I was going to see if I could procure us some more supplies," Lorrik said. Jresh emitted a soft hum of uncertainty. "Don't worry. I'd be glad to join you in meditation afterwards. I'm not going to waste the day. I'm as serious as you about this training thing… okay, maybe not as serious as you, but pretty serious."

* * *

Lorrik walked the familiar halls of the Academy interior while Jresh returned to the suite. The inquisitor pondered how he might get his hands on supplies. It was something he never had to do in his years of study. Occasionally, he would barter or trade with a fellow student in order to procure a meaningful text or datacard. But foodstuffs were absolutely out of the hands of anyone Lorrik traditionally dealt with.

Korriban imported practically all of its edible supplies, which meant if he wanted something of significance, he would have to go to someone close enough to influence those dealings. The inquisitor tumbled the idea around in his head, and could only come up with one person who might fit that description. The quartermaster.

With calm, Lorrik approached the same quartermaster who oversaw the underhalls, the one who had given the eight acolytes their new accommodations. The dull Human still bore the same dull visage he had on that day as well as every other day. As Lorrik drew near, the inquisitor's presence was enough to warrant the quartermaster's attention.

"I remember you. Acolyte. Under Lord Syrosk. I see the robes were delivered successfully. Are you enjoying your new accommodations?" The Human's words seemed almost hollow, the quartermaster putting as little effort into emoting as humanly possible.

"Yes, yes. Everything is going great. I do have some questions about the suite, and its supplies…"

"Amenities are restocked every ten days at midday," the quartermaster plainly stated.

"I understand that, but I wanted to know more about the food-"

"Edible supplies are replenished as part of the standard restocking arrangement."

"Yes, but the type of-"

"The varieties of food are dictated by Production and Logistics, specifically the Domestic Supply Office."

"So you have no control over the resupplying process?"

"Now, I wouldn't say that," the quartermaster stated after a pause, practically dropping his monotonous facade. Panning his gaze around the Academy halls, the Human finally began to show some interested in his company. "What exactly are you trying to accomplish?"

"Well," Lorrik began, "I've recently discovered my talents as a cook, and I was wondering if there was anything to be done that could maybe expand the supply of food that made its way to my suite." The quartermaster stared at the acolyte for a brief moment before succumbing to a short fit of laughter.

"Ha! Is that it? I thought you were conspiring to poison someone's food, or redirect some vital supplies. All you want to do is cook?"

"Well, when you put it that way…"

"Oh, the others are right, you are different."

"Wait, others? Who's been talking about me?"

"All of the students Syrosk took have become the hot topic around here. I hope you didn't think your new position would go unnoticed."

"I suppose I didn't put too much thought into it. Oh, well, I suppose it was a stupid thing to ask."

"Whoa, wait a moment, acolyte. I do have some influence over the moving and directing of supplies around here. If you want a few extra goods or something a bit exotic, I think I can send it your way."

"Really?" Lorrik asked, giddy with delight overcoming any skepticism.

"Sure. It's not often I'm privy to such un-malign machinations. I'm tired of having to deal with the usual miscreants the Academy sends my way. I'd be happy to give a favor for a favor."

"Sure, what favor?"

"My brother, the weapons master, has been working on my lightsaber. Can't leave my post, so it would be great if you could retrieve it for me."

"That's my mission? Fetch an item from someone a few halls down?"

"If you think it beneath you, oh great student of Lord Syrosk…"

"No, wait, I got it. Fetch your lightsaber… wait a minute, you're a Sith?"

"Yeah, began my training back toward the beginning of the war. Wasn't exactly fit for the frontlines and… they needed people to tend the Academy, so that's how me and my brother ended up where we are. Honestly, if it weren't for the Academy rules, we'd probably be the primary cause of death amongst annoying acolytes."

Lorrik digested the quartermaster's words with grim realization. The acolyte's face prompted another bout of laughter from the Human.

"Don't worry, it takes a lot to annoy us. We're good though. We'll be better if you can get me my saber. We'll be even better if you send me down a meal once in a while."

"Heh, you got yourself a deal," Lorrik said, shaking the man's hand.

Lorrik turned from the quartermaster with a grin upon his face. Amidst all the clashes and quarrels that happen within the confines of the Academy, the inquisitor was happy to make the acquaintance of someone not utterly corrupted by the place's darker influences.

The acolyte continued his trek toward the dueling rings and the stationed weapons master. Passing through the narrow halls, Lorrik noticed that the Academy was sparsely populated at the time. Little of the hustle and bustle of students looking to prove themselves. No screaming or shouting of pains or pleasures.

Curiosity got the better of him, as Lorrik turned the corner he did not notice the figure to his back. He also did not notice the blow about to be delivered to the back of his head.


	16. 1-15 Consequences

**Chapter Fifteen: Consequences**

A forceful fist struck Lorrik on the back of his skull, sending the inquisitor tumbling forward to the ground. On his knees, the acolyte used one hand to steady himself whilst the other grasped his newfound wound.

"Ow. If that was intended to knock me unconscious, you need to do better than that," Lorrik muttered through the pain, not bothering to look up from the floor.

"Oh, why would I want you unconscious?" a familiar voice resonated in the darkened halls. "Then you would be ignorant of all the pain you were about to suffer."

"Ornell," Lorrik whispered, clenched fists resting against the floor. "Well, if you knocked me unconscious so you could drag me back to your lair… oh wait, I forgot, you're too much of a worthless insect to possess anything of the sort."

Lorrik found his insults brought to an abrupt end as Ornell delivered a powerful kick to the inquisitor's side. The injured acolyte rolled over with a muffled grunt of pain. Facing upwards, Lorrik could finally glimpse his attacker.

"No, I suppose I haven't a lair yet, but I do have a legion," Ornell enthusiastically stated, four classmates standing behind him trying their hardest to appear intimidating.

"Did the meaning of the word legion change while I've been gone?" Lorrik joked, before being stomped by the flustered acolyte once again. The injured Human writhed on the ground, trying to keep his smile through the fits of discomfort. "If this is how you plan on killing me, we're going to be here all till sundown."

"What makes you think I have any intention of killing you, Lorrik?" Ornell asked, kneeling closer to the grounded acolyte's face. "Are we not still bound by Academy law? I'm sure if you screamed loud enough, someone would hear you. That's all it would take to put a stop to this. So go ahead, beg for mercy."

"Pass," Lorrik bluntly said. Ornell's visage twitched in anger before he promptly struck the prone inquisitor's face with his clenched fist. Rising, Ornell paced in a small circle with his hand stroking his jaw.

"You know, that wasn't nice what you did the other day. Still don't think I'm back to tasting things right."

"Sorry to hear that," Lorrik stated with faux compassion. "If you'd like, I could cook you up something to accommodate your particular tastes."

Ornell's pacing increased as he became more and more visibly displeased, eventually getting right in the fallen Human's face. "Why? Why are you like this?"

"I figured if I'm going to be the one on the floor, I might as well do anything that would prevent you from deriving any pleasure from this experience," Lorrik warmly stated.

"Oh. No. It's quite alright if you stay silent," Ornell whispered, his breath warming the other Human's ear. "This is nothing. I'll show you pain. Real pain. We'll see how long you can hold your tongue."

"Since when have I been holding my tongue?"

"Make your jokes. Soon, you'll understand the cost of your actions."

"Is it still against Academy rules if I die of boredom?"

Lorrik provoked a primal response from Ornell as the enraged acolyte stomped on the fallen inquisitor's torso. Collecting himself, the instigator turned his back on the writhing acolyte.

"Rough him up," Ornell called out. The lackeys who had since only stood by with quiet contemplation began to move. With no weapons, the four plainly robed Humans went about continuing their boss's work, delivering kick after kick to the already brutalized inquisitor.

The beating continued for what seemed like ages to Lorrik. Pain exuded from every nerve of his body. But aside of the wayward grunt of exhaustion, the inquisitor remained silent.

Only after Lorrik lay sufficiently battered, bruised, and bloodied, did Ornell recall his henchmen. "Come on, we're done here."

The lowly acolytes offered their own quick scoffs toward the broken inquisitor before returning to their master. The one nearest Lorrik did notice the hand grasping at his right ankle. The retreating aggressor stopped to look down, and was met with the sight of a soft blue light emanating from the inquisitor's hand.

Sparks crackled for but a moment, before surging through Lorrik's contact point. In a flash, the standing acolyte's body had become wrapped in short arcs of Force lightning. The victim stiffened as the energies coursed through his body, before slumping to the ground unconscious.

"One down," Lorrik muttered, still prone, head raised only enough to make eye contact with Ornell.

Finishing his words, Lorrik spat a glob of blood from his mouth onto the floor in front of him before succumbing to several fits of coughing. Ornell scoffed before he continued to go about his business, walking away from the inquisitor and his single fallen lackey.

As Ornell turned the corner, Lorrik rolled onto his back to gather himself. Looking up at the ceiling he found it hard to gather his thoughts through his own heavy breathing. Grasping his yet unhooked saber, Lorrik used it as leverage to pull himself up off of the ground.

Slowly but surely straightening himself out, Lorrik gathered enough strength to stand straight. Slightly twisting his neck, and emoting with his jaw, the inquisitor made sure all of his parts were still sufficiently functioning. He still tasted the presence of blood as he licked his lips, but was unsure if the source was his mouth or the thin strip stemming from his nose.

Wiping his face, Lorrik saw that his gloved palm received a brush of red. The sight provoked a slight grimace as the inquisitor hesitated to wipe the fluid onto his pant leg. With a heavy sigh, Lorrik propelled himself forward, intent on finishing the task he had been given.

Tending to some supplies behind his counter, the Academy quartermaster hadn't noticed the figure approaching him. The slamming of something solid on the counter's surface caught his attention. Turning around, the quartermaster saw Lorrik had completed the task he had been given, albeit returning in a rather haggard condition. The person, that is. The weapon held within his grasp showed no marks of disuse.

Lorrik released his grip on the peculiar weapon he had retrieved for the quartermaster. Like nothing the acolyte had seen firsthand, the weapon was actually a long pole arm matching his height in length, similar to the pikes and staves he had associated with some members of the Imperial Guard.

"I spoke to your brother… asked him for your saber… gave me this… maybe he misheard me… or wanted you to have this instead," Lorrik sluggishly explained.

The quartermaster studied the bloodied and exhausted acolyte before him. "I didn't expect so simple a task to prove so hazardous for you.

"Oh, this… this was nothing. Something else. So… uh… is this what you wanted?"

"This is fine, Lorrik. Consider yourself a favor owed," the quartermaster stated, retrieving the weapon and putting it in a secure area below the counter. "Would you like to request a med-kit?"

"No… no. I'll be fine. It's been a pleasure…"

"Well, I somehow doubt that. Take care of yourself, acolyte."

"Will do," Lorrik said, turning away from the quartermaster with a slight slump in his stature. The inquisitor forged a new path returning to his suite, his gait almost returning to normal, but still marred by the presence of a limp.

"Yes... quite different."

When Lorrik made it back to his dwelling, he fiddled with the door panel for a moment, wanting nothing more than to lie down in his comfortable bed and rest. As the door parted, Lorrik saw Jresh meditating on the inscribed circular mat as he was prone to do. Sensing the intrusion, the warrior broke his stance to gaze at his partner. His brow furrowed at the sight of his companion's condition.

"Do you plan on explaining your current status?" Jresh stoically asked, not budging from his kneeling position.

"Backroom beatings and inflated egos, standard Academy behavior. You know how it is," Lorrik said as he trudged toward his room.

"No, I'm afraid I do not 'know how it is'. Did you initiate a confrontation? Was this the work of Syrosk's students?"

"No… no. A, uh, regular acolyte and a few flunkies. Something of a conflict that was from before our training under Syrosk."

"What exactly happened?" Jresh asked, an atypical level of investment in his inquiry.

The inquisitor paused outside his room, staring at the door. "I was doing a favor for the quartermaster, during which I was struck on the back of the head by an acolyte. Then him and his gang proceeded to knock me around a bit."

"Did you fight back?"

Lorrik turned toward his partner, carefully leaning against the nearby wall. "Not really. It would have accomplished nothing. If I took them down, I'd just be the guy who was picking on lowly acolytes since entering the training of a Sith Lord. If I cried out, I'd have given him the satisfaction of seeing me beg for mercy or hiding behind Academy rules. All of which would have reflected poorly on me… and you."

"Weakness," Jresh muttered, fists clenching his pant legs.

"I'm sorry?" Lorrik asked, taken aback.

"These other students. Their actions contained no merit. They had no clear goal with which they could accomplish. If they were trying to do something of significance, I might understand the overpowering numbers, but to use such force to try and belittle someone such as yourself…"

"That almost sounded like an insult."

"The actions you have described are the actions of weak, foolish cowards."

"They probably weren't trying to prove how 'strong' they are. They just wanted to send a message."

The Pureblood quickly picked himself up off the meditation mat. "Consider that message received. Can you give me the names of the assailants?"

"Whoa, these guys are beneath you. They didn't accomplish anything, it's best not to waste your time with them."

"I will not stand idly by whilst rodents nip at my heels," Jresh firmly stated. "Every message deserves a response."

The Human hesitantly scratch the back of his bruised and bleeding head. "I don't know…"

"Lorrik. I promised to lend you my strength. Just as you promised to lend me yours. You proved yourself today. What other might consider weakness, I consider fortitude. Syrosk told you to test your limits, to endure whatever came at you. And you did just that. You gave me insight into your beliefs, your psyche. You've broadened my horizons, proving that I was not a fool for turning away from the simplistic mindset that the Academy expected from warrior like myself. The least you could do, is allow me to defend you from those who would see you beaten down."

"And here I thought you'd expect me to defend myself."

"I do," Jresh plainly stated. "There will be times when we are separated. When you will be forced to rely only on yourself. I expect you to be fully capable of staying alive by yourself. But in this instance, you chose not to retaliate. I know what you are capable of. I know that you made a conscious decision to act as you did. But while we are together, we are one. An attack on you is an attack on myself. And I cannot abide by that. If it makes you feel better, consider this an act of selfishness."

Lorrik took a couple of deep, careful breaths. "You truly plan to act on this?"

"I am nothing if not determined. Now, I'm going to need names and faces."


	17. 1-16 Retaliations

**Chapter Sixteen: Retaliations**

Jresh briskly exited the suite, leaving Lorrik behind to recover. The inquisitor sat on his knees, staring at the door with growing concern. For once in his life, he had no clue or estimations of what events would transpire in the near future. He sat amongst the quiet room. Everything was still, calm, and peaceful. But in the inquisitor's mind, only chaos. Feelings and concerns flooded his conscience. Questions circulated over and over in his mind.

What if? What will be? How, and most importantly, who? The Academy had finally left its mark on the student, physically and emotionally. And yet, here he remained, unable to reciprocate. Unable, or unwanting? He did not know. He had allowed Jresh to charge off on his own. He didn't want to burden his partner. But deep within his mind, he wanted revenge. He wanted the pain he felt to be met and repaid in full.

Lorrik wanted peace, balance, and whatever else he might need to reach an enlightenment capable of separating himself from this accursed Academy. He wanted knowledge, power, and the ability to control his own freedom. He simply wanted. A wont for want defined him. Burdened him. Peace, yet emotion. Contradictories plagued his mindset.

Slowly, the inquisitor raised himself from the floor and steadily walked toward his room. As he passed the threshold of his personal quarters, he began to shed the outer layers of his robe. Unbuckling various fasteners, the Human haphazardly flung the gloves and boots from his limbs, and let his outer coat messily fall to the floor. Limping to the bathroom, Lorrik examined his reflection on the sizable mirror mounted upon the wall.

Splotches of red and purple marred his visage. Long since dried blood ran from the corners of his mouth, from his nostrils. Bruises dotted the rest of his remarkably swollen face. Despite his injuries, the inquisitor had moved beyond the pain. He could no longer gaze upon his face and see the individual cuts and bruises. Now, he could only see the captured image of his entire countenance. A portrait. A painting that held many facets, and many meanings.

Lorrik gazed at his reflection. He saw weakness, someone utterly incapable of defending himself. He saw strength, someone capable of enduring previously unmatched levels of pain. Beyond the anguish, the inquisitor eventually came across a realization. He wanted this. He needed this. Because in the end, he was feeling something. Pain, assuredly, but also a well of emotion and confusing thought. It was invigorating for the inquisitor.

Lorrik continued to stare at his reflection, and watched as he slowly adopted a smile. He saw potential. He saw a challenge. Exiting the bathroom, the inquisitor carried himself to the center of his bed. But instead of falling prone and resting, he adopted a meditative position, sitting upright with his legs crossed above the plush covers that lay beneath him. Closing his eyes, Lorrik brought his hands together, as the air surrounding him vibrated ever so slightly, producing a visible aura that seemed to emanate from his person.

Jresh, meanwhile, walked the halls of the Academy with purpose. Brisk and dedicated, the warrior moved with an atypically fast pace, though still falling short of a jog. In reality, he was marching, marching toward a sure destination where sure actions were to take place.

Not bothering to utilize the hood of his robes, all who gazed upon the warrior as he made his way toward the classrooms saw a fierce dedication. Whichever students populated the halls that Jresh currently walked through, quickly altered their position, lest they actively impede the warrior. Two students however, made no such effort. Isorr and Arlia were walking back to their suite, having successfully completed their master's exercise.

Seeing the Pureblood marching toward them alone, Arlia couldn't help but release a snide comment at the warrior. "Well, what do you know? Those two aren't physically latched on to one another."

Arlia was momentarily confused when the Pureblood offered absolutely no response. She was unsure if he merely hadn't heard her, or if he was actively ignoring her. The Twi'lek didn't have time for another comment, as Jresh passed through the minimal gap that separated the duo without a single word or wayward glance. The two students continued to gaze at the stalwart warrior as he continued his trek toward the lower halls.

"That was peculiar," Arlia said, puzzling over the Sith's presence. As she turned to face her partner, she saw the Zabrak bearing a peculiar smirk. "What's got you so giddy, Isorr?"

The Zabrak kept his eyes affixed to the marching warrior. "I know that look."

"Oh, and what look might that be?"

"The look of pain and hatred. The look of death." There was a paused as Isorr watched the Pureblood turned a corner. "Good."

"Good?"

"I was beginning to think the Human was having an adverse effect on the warrior. Weakening him. However, it looks like I still possess a worthy opponent in him."

Arlia could not reciprocate her partner's musings of worthiness.

Reaching the lecture wing of the lower halls, Jresh ventured passed the area where he had first met his companion. It was there that he came across a classroom in the middle of its studies. The number etched onto the wall next to the door matched the one Lorrik had described. As the warrior approached, the metallic door lifted itself into its upper recess in response to the Sith's presence.

Inside the classroom, the students and instructor were sufficiently interrupted by the intruding warrior. There was a clear path from the door to the classroom's instructor, who currently stood behind a lectern, and in front of a wall with various Sith writings etched onto its surface.

To the left and right, two sitting areas. Cold, brutal seating, lacking in any ergonomically pleasing design, was situated in tiered rows, each row sitting at a slightly higher elevation the closer to the door it was. Jresh pressed onward into the confines of the room, garnering the attention of the less than pleased instructor.

"I'm sorry… my lord… but might you explain why you are interrupting my lecture?" the instructor asked, balancing respect and disapproval. Jresh offered the older Human no response as he continued forward. Finally, adjacent to the instructor, the warrior leaned in close and whispered into the teacher's ear. The plainly robed Human paused for but a moment before leaving the classroom without a word.

Jresh now stood behind the lectern, gazing out toward the students that populated the room. As he panned his gaze across the gathered students, Jresh unhooked his saber and placed it at the base of the lectern.

"I require a word with a student named Ornell and anyone who would care to associate with him. Everyone else… leave. Now."

The warrior's words shook the students to the core, and they promptly complied. As the mostly Human group vacated the room, only a few figures yet remained, matching the descriptions Lorrik had given of his aggressors.

"Look, you may have tricked the instructor into thinking you're someone of rank, but we know you're just a student here," a sufficiently smug Human said from the front row.

The commenting student was trying his hardest to adopt an aloof stance and appear unfazed by the warrior's intrusion. Jresh studied the individual. It was definitely Ornell. Abandoning the lectern, Jresh made his way toward the student's position.

"Hey, we both know there's nothing you can-" Ornell began, before Jresh promptly gripped the student by his blonde hair, and slammed his head into the sturdy desktop in front of him. As Ornell recoiled in pain, the three students that had opted to remain leapt to his defense.

Weaponless, they opted to bring down the warrior with their bare hands. They failed. The first to enter Jresh's reach found himself incapacitated with a quick jab to his throat. The next managed to grab a hold on the warrior's exterior robes, and the Pureblood responded by simply driving his own skull into the student's nose. The last defender leapt at the Sith from one of the back rows. The Pureblood grabbed the jumper in mid-air before slamming his body to the ground at his feet. As the student writhed on the ground, Jresh forcefully directed his heel down onto the fallen student's chest, knocking whatever air remained out of his lungs. Ornell, clutching the side of his head, had not even begun to process the events that had just transpired.

"What do you think you're-" Ornell began, before he found himself gripped by the robes near his chest. The warrior lifted the inquisitor in training and flung him over the desk, sending him sliding toward the lectern. As Ornell impacted against the solid fixture, he began to scuttle and panic, unsure of any way to escape. On instinct, he grasped the training saber Jresh had left at the base of the lectern, activated it, and pointed it at the warrior. Jresh merely stared down his opponent, watching as the weapon trembled in the wielder's right hand.

"Y-you m-messed up!" Ornell shouted, desperation oozing from every syllable that left his mouth. "N-now I've… I've got your weapon!"

The Pureblood approached the frightened student with one slow step after another.

"Yes… yes you do," Jresh plainly stated, before he batted the weapon free of Ornell's grip with a powerful backward swing of his gloved hand. "You've also revealed your dominant hand."

The warrior closed whatever gap remained and lifted the student by his neck before flattening him against the ground. As Ornell lied sprawled at his feet, Jresh planted a boot on the student's chest, keeping him pinned to the ground.

"P-please! You can't kill me!" Ornell desperately cried out.

"Oh, I most definitely can," Jresh coldly stated, leaning downward closer to his victim's face. "But, I won't." The warrior, still pinning the inquisitor to the ground, reached down and grasped the student's right hand by the wrist. "You committed a great grievance against Lorrik Velash, and in turn, committed a great grievance against myself."

Gripping Ornell's hand with one of his, Jresh used his other to grasp the student's index finger. In one single motion, he bent the digit back until an audible snap wrung out, followed by Ornell's howls of pain.

"That… was for Lorrik."

Jresh moved on to the middle finger, and repeated the action. Ornell repeated his response with more unintelligible shrieks.

"That… was for me."

Jresh released the inquisitor's hand and removed his foot from the student's chest. Ornell clutched his abused hand, writhing on the ground in agony. The warrior took a knee, and clutched Ornell's jaw with his hand. Directing the student's head, he made sure Ornell's gaze met with his own.

"The consequences of your actions have been dealt. So long as you do not continue to harass myself or my partner, no more harm will be departed upon you. You are free to wander these halls without fear of further retaliation. However, if our gazes ever meet again, you will have exactly five seconds to make yourself disappear. Or else. Do I make myself clear?"

Ornell nodded, his eyes glazed over in tears. Without another word, Jresh retrieved his training saber, attached it to his belt, and departed the classroom, passing the still prone group of students that had opposed him. Exiting the room, the class instructor leaned against the wall adjacent to the door. Jresh had no words for him, or anyone else, and began his solemn trek back to the suite.

Back at the suite, Lorrik entered his bathroom yet again, having exited his meditative trance. Gazing at his reflection, the inquisitor examined every extremity of his face. No cuts. No bruises. Lorrik emoted in a wide range, stretching and flexing each facial muscle and offering the occasional inquisitive poke and prod with his finger. Everything had apparently returned to normal. The pain was nothing but a memory. Lorrik pumped his fist into the air, overtly excited with the success of his new Force technique.


	18. 1-17 Dreams

**Chapter Seventeen: Dreams**

With a deep breath, Jresh entered the door code to his suite and entered, baring a peculiar serenity in his visage. More than the usual calmness and blankness that graced his face. His expression told of a strange sense of fulfillment that was not the standard. A sense of satisfaction, of actions taken, of conditional delight. Passing the threshold of the warrior's home, Jresh noticed that the same feeling could be extrapolated from the suite itself. As the warrior walked toward the bedrooms, there appeared to be no evidence of the anguish that populated the area a short while ago.

Stopping the warrior dead in his stride, was the emergence of Lorrik from his bedroom, garbed in a casual set of backup robes. Jresh puzzled as he gazed upon his companion's unblemished face, seeing no scars, only a peculiar smile, even for Lorrik.

The Pureblood softly furrowed his brow. "What happened to your wounds?"

"I know, awesome right?" Lorrik heartily replied. "Force healing. Never had the chance to try it before. Didn't even think I would be able to do it."

"Upon what source did you siphon sustenance from?" Jresh asked.

"None. I thought, hey, Jresh meditates and finds peace and what have you. Why can't I? And I did."

"When I meditate, I lock myself in with my own thoughts, and set out to achieve a certain understanding of the internal forces that make up my body and mind. What you did, sounds like drawing upon the light side of the Force. You'll understand why I consider the act something of peculiarity for a Sith acolyte. I know your demeanor doesn't match the other students, but this… this is quite different."

"I think it fits perfectly with what we are trying to accomplish, procuring knowledge and techniques from any source so long as it increases our combined power. I mean, when you were injured on our second day of training, you eventually healed yourself over a long period with meditation. Imagine if I could have mended your wound on the spot. I mean, I'm not able to channel this power yet, to my knowledge, but given time and training…"

"I feel that such a course of action might be counter intuitive. If whatever injuries I sustain are immediately remedied, how will I be able to dwell upon then, learn from them, draw from them."

"A good point, but think about it. How do we gain strength?" Lorrik asked. "We push our bodies to the limit, breaking down what makes us up so that it can repair itself and come back stronger. I think I've found a way to expedite the process. Regardless of your toughness, which I will admit is remarkably high, you will eventually find your actions limited by a fear of being incapacitated. Only a complete fool would possess absolutely no qualms about being injured. But now, with this knowledge, this power, we can push ourselves even further. We can press forward, beyond the other students, and ensure our continued success in the future to come."

Jresh scratched his chin, as intrigued as he was reticent. "I understand your reasoning Lorrik, and I won't presume to have as in depth a knowledge of the Force as you do, but everything I've known and experienced in this Academy up until this point unfortunately casts some doubts on this occurrence. As much as we differ from our peers by way of mentality, we still draw our power from the dark side."

"That we do. I merely believe in diversification."

"The dark and the light will always oppose one another. One will dominate the other or they will inevitably cancel each other out. Trying to utilize both will either render your power inert, or destroy you."

"That is what we've always been taught, but then again, think of all the things the Academy has tried to push on us. Who's to say the Academy and the Sith aren't trying to impose some sort of artificial weakness on us? The Jedi keep their initiates hidden away from the influences of the dark side's power. Maybe the opposite is true for us."

"It is not a completely unthinkable prospect," Jresh stated, still unsure of his companion's thoughts.

"Hey, how about another chat session, like the other day. We'll meditate, and I'll explain all the crazy philosophies I got going on in my mind on this subject," Lorrik calmly said, stepping toward the meditation mat in the center of the room.

Jresh stood in silence for a short moment before finally conceding to the inquisitor's plan, joining him. Instead of sitting in the rug's center, the two took opposing positions on the outer rim, facing inward and toward one another. Jresh unhooked his saber and laid it gently upon the ground next to him as he knelt across from Lorrik.

"So, early in my studies," Lorrik began, "I came across numerous accounts of techniques created, lost, and rediscovered by various Sith throughout the ages. This process was only spurred on by the various wars and conflicts between Force-users in the past. Jedi. Dark Jedi. Sith. As a whole, each would follow a certain doctrine, and draw upon an equally powerful power source. The light side of the Force provided stability, preserved balance, offered bastion. The dark side of the Force provided power, enabled change, and always pressed forward."

"The two sides of the Force opposed one another, in its base form and in its various wielders," Lorrik continued. "But there was little in the form of exclusivity between the two forces. When each side witnessed a powerful Force technique, they would copy it, either exactly, or producing a purified or corrupted version of it. Jedi would use techniques thought only to be driven by hatred and fear, yet remained utterly calm and composed. Sith now are able to quickly heal grave injuries by drawing upon dark emotions, or siphoning energy from another living creature. This leads me to believe a few things. First and foremost, that regardless of the separation of light and dark, there is still just the Force."

"Are you saying that the two sides of the Force are inconsequential?" Jresh asked.

"No. No. The Force now is absolutely divided. In ancient times there may have simply been one Force, the light and dark together and indistinguishable, but I doubt that lasted long, especially as soon as any living creatures started utilizing it. I merely believe that despite the divide, the two sides are still connected. Think about it. Throughout the entirety of our known history, the light and the dark have existed. Never has one side utterly compromised or defeated the other. Darkness would yet remain in the hearts of a galaxy guided by the light. A light would still flicker when utterly surrounded by darkness. The two sides continue to exist, and must exist. Together."

"It is one thing to understand both sides of the Force," Jresh admitted, "but to properly utilize both of them… that is something I don't think anyone has been able to properly accomplish. As you said, when one side copied the techniques of the other, it was in the form of debased, altered versions."

"I agree that it would prove to be a monumental task, drawing strength from both the light and the dark simultaneously. It would require an individual to possess the utmost connection between their body, their mind, and their spirit. None of these aspects could falter, or give way, otherwise the internal conflict would destroy the user from within."

"You think yourself capable of such a feat?"

"I think myself capable of trying."

"So the Sith'ari's ambitions were suddenly matched," Jresh muttered, the closest thing to a joke the Sith could muster.

"Early in my training, I had a dream," Lorrik explained. "I was far too inexperienced to consider it some sort of vision, but it has none the less guided me, and continues to guide my thought processes when it comes to training and acquiring knowledge."

"A dream?" Jresh asked.

"Yes," Lorrik emphatically stated. "Close your eyes, and see if you can picture it. I would fall asleep, and awake standing in a peculiar void. I was standing on a path that continued forever forward, stretching onward past the horizon. The sky was nothing but an unblemished white blankness. The path was made of immaculate material, not bearing a single crack or flaw, and was no wider than a meter. To my left, and my right, there existed not land, but two equally infinite pools of calm water, separated by the impermeable barrier that was the path I currently walked. The left pool, a completely opaque expanse of blackness. The right pool, completely clear, extending eternally yet offering a glimpse into the white void that surrounded it."

"I knelt at the precipice of the black pool, and cupped my hand into the dark waters. Looking at the liquid that remained in my hand, at its thinnest point it possessed an almost reddish tinge. At its deepest, a tenebrous dancing appeared to be taking place in the murky depths, enticing and captivating me. It begged me to partake in it, and I complied, bringing my hand and its bounty to my lips. Drinking the dark water, the tongue immediately rejected the utter bitterness of it. But everything else wanted more. It burned the throat as it continued its travels, but still the body wanted more. The dark water seemed to provide an unknown sustenance. Gazing into the greater pool, the opaque waters spoke to me, beckoning me to dive into its depths. It promised pain. It promised relief. It offered hunger, only to sate it. It gave itself to me, yet expected me to give myself to it."

"I resisted the call, though only barely, and turned and knelt at the opposite edge of the divide. Scooping the clear liquid into my hand, the liquid slowly vibrated in my cusp. It produced a sort of divine radiance in its edges, something capable of surpassing even the utterly white void that dominated the scene. The waters begged me to drink, just as the others had. And like with the others, I did. It was cool, and temporarily sated the burning sensation wrought by the dark pool. As it filled me, it also offered relief from the hunger the darkness had perpetuated. But it was fleeting. The pool begged me to dive in, offering more relief in its depths. Peace. Serenity. Absolution. As I scooped another hand into the clear waters, I was horrified to see the small amount of water resting in my hands slowly lost its radiance, turning into dull ordinary liquid."

"That was when I knew that as different as the two sides were, there were exactly the same. They each wanted me to commit to them, offering true solace and sustenance somewhere hidden far out and deep, where I would have to forever turn my back on the other pool. It was at that point that I realized, devoting myself to either the darkness or the light, meant losing myself. I would no longer exist in my current form, I would become a slave. The darkness would grant me its power, only to eventually eat away at every fiber of my being. The light would grant me peace, only if I were completely and utterly dedicated to it."

"And so I stood, and I walked forward, continuing along the immaculate path that divided the two pools. I would later partake in the two waters, and discover that further down the path, the darkness renewed its sustenance, and the light did not turn dull. So I continued, instead of diving deep into one of the pools, I would move forward along the path, taking in each side, one scoop at a time, until that spot would no longer provide for me. But no side ever abandoned its ambitions. They each tried to pull me toward their depths, knowing that refusing me their bounty even while still on the path meant that I would have no choice but to go to the other side."

"I continued forward, believing that I had outwitted the two forces. That is when I started to notice, the path was ever so slowly narrowing as I moved forward. But I could not stop, as each pool would refuse me further sustenance and delight from a single spot for too long. So I vowed to press on, no matter what. The path continued, and still stretched eternally into the unapproachable horizon. But it became harder and harder to drink from the two pools. Putting one foot in front of the other, I was forced to achieve total balance to stay upright, knowing that one misstep would send me tumbling into one of the pools. And at this point, if either force could wrap itself around me, I knew it would not let me go. So I continued. Utterly focused. Keeping my body, mind, and spirit all devoted to the singular cause of progress."

"The path still narrows as I moved forward. Eventually, it was as if I was balancing barefoot on the edge of a razor. Moving forward, the path that once offered protection from the two forces, now cut at the soles of my feet. Cut after cut delivered itself into the bottom of my foot. Looking down, I saw droplets of blood drip into each pool. The darkness welcomed it, almost as if feeding on me as it has always wanted. The light dissolved it, leaving practically no visible trace of its presence in the pool. Balancing on one foot, I hesitantly dipped the other into the darkness. I felt a slight tug, as if the pool was now drinking from me. But the pain from the cuts were numbed. Dipping the foot into the light, the pain returned, intensified. The dark waters that yet remained on my foot were purified. As I rescinded my foot, I discovered that not a single cut remained."

"I continued my trek forward, replicating the actions I had previously taken. Cutting my feet, numbing the pain, and repairing the damage. I found I no longer required the ingestion of the waters to indulge in their benefits. I achieved a greater understanding. And still I continued. I faced pain. And continued to face pain. But I knew so much more about the two pools of water than when I had first started. The two sides were different, yet the same. They opposed one another, and always sought to strike out at the other. And me, in the middle of that conflict, bore witness, experienced the strife, and in the end, profited on the conflict."

"My body, mind, and spirit had been strengthened, because they had systematically been broken down and repaired. This entire sequence, I believe, is readily transferable into the material world. That is why I am the way I am, believe the way I believe, and act the way I act. It is not a quick strategy. It is something that can only hope to be accomplished over an entire lifetime, and maybe longer. But I vow I will not give up in this endeavor."

Lorrik had finished his thoughts with a deep breath. Looking forward, he saw that Jresh was in fact utterly devoted in meditation, digesting every single word the inquisitor had offer him. Upon opening his eyes, the warrior stared directly into those of his companion.

"I guess we're not as dissimilar as I had once thought," Jresh said, almost adopting a grin.


	19. 1-18 Happenings

**Chapter Eighteen: Happenings**

Lorrik and Jresh had lived a full, eventful day. For once, Jresh had no aversion to a little bit of rest for himself and his companion. The two acolytes filled out the remainder of their day with tasks of the mundane. Lorrik did a little bit of light cooking. Jresh studied his partner's action and reflected upon his own thoughts. Their day continued with little in the way of intrigue. But whilst the duo rested, the rest of the Academy remained constantly in motion.

* * *

At the requisitions counter in the bowels of the Academy, the quartermaster unwrapped a boxed meal in front of him. The Human lifted the white folds of the flexible container and laid his eyes upon the delicious foodstuffs that rested inside the unremarkable box. Using the disposable utensil that came with the meal, the quartermaster poked and prodded the various foods inside, examining what rested beside and underneath each item. Stabbing at one of the round balls of dough, the quartermaster skewered the sweet dumpling. The Human's usually dulled expression changed to a pleasant surprise as he took a bite.

"What are you eating?" an approaching Human asked. Stopping in front of the quartermaster, the tender of the counter looked up to see his twin brother, the weapons master. The two Humans matched each other in overall appearance, including image and demeanor. The two tenders of the Academy underhalls were still in their youth, resting between the typical student and typical instructor in age.

"Don't know," the quartermaster admitted. "Some kind of cooked dough. Tastes sweet. Everything here looks sweet. Not sure the guy knows how to make anything but deserts and sweet stuffs."

"What guy?"

"The one I sent to you to get me my saber."

"Oh, the one you sent with the… uh… messed up face?"

"I thought he got those bruises after meeting with you."

"Nope, came to me asking for your weapon, bleeding all over my workplace."

"You work next to the dueling circles, it was meant to be bled all over."

"Beside the point. Made me think you had beaten one of the students into doing your errands."

"He wasn't just another student. Didn't you see his robes? Better yet, didn't you recognize his face when he and his fellows got their personal training sabers?"

"Again… messed up face. Plus, I make a point to never commit any of the students to long term memory. If I did, I'd just end up holding grudges against the majority of punks that came my way."

"The students that intolerable?"

"Well you know them. They're not any different over here are they?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Thank the Emperor, I thought being near the dueling circles gave them a case of the stupids."

"Come on, we were young once. Students who had the same indignant attitude toward everyone around us on our journey to 'power'."

"Then we got stuck with these positions."

"Better than being dead, which in all likelihood was a very real possibility for us."

"Meh."

"At least we have access to Academy supplies, even all the way down here," the quartermaster admitted, taking another bite of his meal.

"Speaking of which, how do you like your saber?" the weapons master inquired.

"Haven't really had a chance to test it out. Been stuck here. How's progress on yours coming along?"

"Went back to the drawing board, did some redesigns, thinking of doing something different."

"What?"

"What?"

"Why would you pick a different design? I thought we were going to both try using a lightsaber pike."

"Well, I was messing around with yours before your lackey came to pick it up, and it didn't really suit my combat style."

"That wasn't the point. When do we ever have to actually combat anything. I thought we were just doing it to stand out. Keep ourselves entertained. Be different."

"Now you're the only one here with one. You're unique."

"I don't want to be unique. I wanted us to be unique. Now I'm just going to be the target of all the snide comments over an unorthodox lightsaber."

"Oh, so if we both were the targets of snide comments, it would have been totally okay…"

"Yes! We would be brothers, using these awesome weapons."

"Which we wouldn't actually be using."

"No, wait, that was MY point."

"Well, for now, at least you'll have something in common with the Imperial Guardsmen stationed throughout the Academy. Although, from what I've noticed, only the honor guard seem to use pikes. The ones who actually fight use something more resembling a double-ended saberstaff."

"Great, that's all I need is flak from those guys. 'Oh take our ceremonial weapon and put a laser on the end of it'."

"You seriously think that's how those guys view our lightsabers?" the weapons master inquired.

"They're not Force-sensitive. There's got to be some strange feelings amongst them whilst they dedicate their lives defending the Dark Council and all the students running around the Academy."

"Yeah, but they're conditioned to throw away their lives for us 'betters'. They might take it as a sign of respect. Usher in a brand new venture in peaceful relations between us Force-sensitives and the 'normals'."

"Those guys are anything but normal. I mean they're trained to kill anything, even Sith. They're the Emperor's chosen."

"That's a shame. They have every reason to feel superior, and yet they're quiet and obedient. Wish that was the norm around here."

"Just ignore the troublesome students, I mean, honestly, what can they do beyond offering an ungrateful comment here and there. Ignoring the actual status of the lower classrooms, we still technically outrank the acolytes, so they're bound by the Academy rules. And not the ones that go away once everyone closes their eyes and turns their heads," the quartermaster explained, mouth full of food.

"So there's obviously a story with this food…" the weapons master prodded.

"Yeah, made a deal with an acolyte, Lorrik, you know, one of the students Lord Syrosk snatched up. Nice guy. You'd like him. Doesn't do that think those other acolytes do."

"Be annoying?"

"Yeah, that. At least, from my conversations with him. He wanted some extra supplies beyond the allotted provisions. Says he interested in cooking. He fetched me my saber and promised to make a meal once in a while. And if this is what he can do with the typical stuff, I can't wait to see what he makes with some nonstandard ingredients."

"So it's come to this. We're so dissatisfied with our jobs that we're getting our kicks out of something as menial as new foodstuffs every once in a while."

"If you'd like I could ask him to make you some," the quartermaster suggested. The weapons master stared at his brother with a long, drawn out stare that bordered on a scowl. He eventually looked down with a heavy sigh.

"Fine. Might as well get something out of him, before… well, you know…"

"What?"

"Taken by a Sith Lord or not… no one leaves the classrooms…"

* * *

With the day fading into night, the students of Lord Syrosk retired as they completed their training. Following the departure of Jresh and Lorrik, the other pairs repeated the exercise of spirit, throwing themselves at their immobile master who bombarded them with oppressing telekinetic forces. With only three of the four duos remaining, the Sith Lord's focus intensified, bringing his students to their knees in no time at all, and forcing them to draw upon even greater strength than before.

The next pair to succeed was Isorr and Arlia. The Zabrak endured his master's test, and eventually laid hands on Syrosk with the aid of his partner. The next to succeed was Kar'ai and Ryloh, the two inching forward together with one advancing after the next and supporting one another along the way. Eventually, through strife and perseverance, Nesk and Vurt completed the challenge. With no visible signs of the duo helping one another, it appeared that the brutal warrior and inquisitor moved forward of their own accord, utterly selfish in their determination, each simultaneously laying a hand on their watching master.

What would have normally prompted a scolding from their master for not accomplishing a goal in the prescribed way, was accepted without a word. In the end, Syrosk could not deny the success of the stubborn pair. The purpose of the challenge was to test the students' spirit and resolve, and it was thoroughly tested. As the last duo left his presence, Syrosk stood amongst the slowly falling Korriban sun. His cloak slowly wafted in the flowing winds, tickled by the dust that swirled beneath him. In silence matching the scenery, the Sith Lord walked the winding path back toward the Academy by his lonesome.

Passing through the main halls of the Academy toward his residence, the alien Lord possessed a pace similar to that of a sluggish march. His eyes eternally directed forward, he offered little attention to the Imperial officers and fellow Sith that populated the areas near his dwelling. Garnering little esteem from his compatriots, Syrosk possessed little incentive for conversation. About to turn down a hall, a hastily approaching figure managed to catch his attention.

"Syrosk!" the borderline exhausted Human called out, drifting between certainty and hesitance. The Sith Lord halted his pace, and directed his sharp gaze toward the speaker. He was garbed in official robes, those of one of the Academy instructors.

"Yes, can I help you?" Syrosk stoically asked.

"Are you aware of the actions your students' have recently carried out in my classroom?" the Human inquired, bordering on an accusatory tone.

"That all depends on your definition of 'aware', however, given your tone I can only assume you disapprove of some of the actions taken by my student's during their free time. Am I correct in assuming such?"

The instructor's face twisted into a thing of hate, nostrils flaring as he stared up into the alien's cold eyes. "They never should have been pulled from the classrooms in the first place, but one of your students you took from us returned!"

"So which is it instructor? Should they be there or not?" Syrosk asked, raspy voice oozing with snark. "You really ought to make up your mind."

"Do not get smart with me cur!" the Human said with a hushed shout. "You have no right to be here. You have no right to interfere."

"What's done is done," Syrosk bluntly stated. "I have no further interest in yours or the other classrooms in the underhalls."

"Really? Because that obviously isn't true of your new students."

"Well… this does, in fact, come as a surprise," Syrosk admitted, almost taking an interest in the instructor's words. "Well, go ahead and speak your mind."

"One of your students, the Pureblood, barged into my classroom in the middle of a session."

"You certainly had the power to make an example of him, did you not?"

"He spoke to me, said he was acting as an agent of a Sith Lord's will, said that he needed some alone time with a student of mine. At first, I didn't recognize his robes…"

"Are you implying that a Sith spoke a mistruth? Surely you jest, instructor," Syrosk joked, completely deadpan.

"The actions of you and your new 'students' are a mockery of this institution!"

"It is not us who are the mockery," Syrosk coldly rasped. "Pray tell, what exactly did my student accomplish after you bent yourself to his will out of fear of retaliation from some unknown Lord?"

"He deliberately beat down four students."

"Any fatalities?"

"N… no."

"Then honestly, instructor, I am not comprehending the source of your contiguous ire."

"There are rules in place. And as bendable as those rules are, it is done in ways founded in tradition. It is not the place of an acolyte to strike against his fellow in front of an instructor."

"I was under the impression that you were absent during the event."

"He informed me that-"

Syrosk leaned in close. "So which was it instructor… were you an imbecile, or a coward? You either fell victim to a ruse out of ignorance or fear. Tell me, do you know the reason why your students were assaulted? Hmm? I wager toward the option of no, you did not. You made a bad judgment, don't act as if you are owed anything from me, whether it be an apology or an explanation. My student showed capability. He showed strength defeating four acolytes. He show intelligence outwitting an instructor. He showed determination following through with these actions of his own accord, on his free time, after his training for the day had finished. Tell me, what is it that you truly feel? Is it anger? Fear? That I plucked a student from the sea of utter worthlessness that persists in the classrooms of you and the other instructors? That within a few days my student has progressed to a point of overshadowing anything you could produce? Is it my student that you take issue with? Or is it me? Raging against the mere prospect that some alien, some debased life form that hasn't been 'touched by the great Sith peoples', is capable of creating something of greatness? Tell me."

"These students were never meant for greatness! And you knew that! These classrooms, these teachings, they served a specific purpose. These acolytes, they weren't meant to be true Sith. They are tools. Meant to be utilized by a Sith of actual worth. They had a specific purpose, to be used against the Jedi. To throw their lives away. Aliens. Slaves. Impurities. Blights on the good name of the Sith Empire. Then you came along and start pulling 'warriors' and 'inquisitors' from the refuse. You are actively working against the war effort-"

The instructor's speech was immediately cut off. He felt an unseen force softly clenching itself around his throat. Slowly, the pressure spread to his torso. Then his limbs. The instructor found himself unable to move a single portion of his body, all while the Sith Lord continued to cast an intense stare into his eyes.

"The war… what do you know of the war?" Syrosk muttered, showing the first, but still slight, sign of emotion. His voice growled and his eyes sharpened. "You dare speak to me of rules and traditions? You've done nothing but walk around this Academy, pushing students toward their inevitable deaths. You are weak, and take solace in the fact that the only people you encounter on a daily basis are even weaker than yourself. All it took was one individual, one student, to display a genuine feat of strength and the fragile world you've built for yourself comes crumbling down. And as you look at the shards that lie piled at your feet, you don't know how to respond. All you know is fear. Fear of strength. Fear of power. You… you are not Sith. I have seen the past, through the code, through the histories, through the struggles. I have seen the present, through the battlefield, through the conflict, through the war. I have seen the future… You and your kin have your intentions. Now, I possess my own. I am doing what is best for the Sith. What is best for the Empire. Now, if in the future, you wish to challenge me or my students again, gather yourself some actual fortitude and actually CHALLENGE us!"

Syrosk released his grip on the instructor, causing him fall forward and struggle to catch his breath. Breathing heavily and clutching at his chest, the instructor snarled as Lord Syrosk continued his journey home.


	20. 1-19 Progressions

**Chapter Nineteen: Progressions**

_Lorrik Velash's Journal: Day Five, Entry Three. _

_Today was a brand new day of training, seemingly in more ways than one. Our meeting with the master was surprisingly different this time. It seems as if he possessed a little something extra inside of him. A certain determination. A presence of emotion. I think he's starting to recognize all of us as his students. Forgoing his usual monologue preceding the issuing of tasks, Lord Syrosk seemed utterly focused on putting us through our rounds. Maybe he was going easy on us for the first few days. _

_Then again, he did say that the first couple of tests were for his benefit instead of ours. Maybe the time has come in which he plans to test our limits, push us forward or cast us aside as he narrows his choices on who to take on as his apprentice. It would seem that from this point forward, we'll have our work cut out for us. It's funny, usually I'd abhor the prospect. But I find myself welcoming the upcoming challenges, even the physical ones. I guess Jresh is starting to get through to me. _

_And today's challenge was certainly physical. A dual duel. With a few tricks thrown in…_

* * *

The eight students of Lord Syrosk stood in their respective pairs atop the usual trainings grounds the group usually utilized. As they stood rigid, trying their hardest to keep their stance upright, they looked forward at their master with beads of sweat beginning to form across their brows.

"My students," Syrosk began, "you currently wear, upon your wrists and ankles, weighted bands, designed to limit your mobility. You will be forced to carry these burdens for the remainder of the day, and they will certainly play an important role in the upcoming test, which will be a series of duels. Two against two. You and your partner will be tested on your ability to combine your abilities, and defend against two opponents."

"Heed my words, students. This is the start of a new type of training. Before, you would be tested by the merits of your body, or your mind, or your spirit. No more. No more will such aspects of your person be separate. From this day forth, every exercise will test the entirety of what defines you. As students. As acolytes. As Sith. And you WILL be tested. Every mistake you make could lead you to your death. Your instructors in years passed have been lax, incapable of producing anything of true worth. Now, the time has come to break you down and rebuild you, over and over, until you are worthy of apprenticeship. Shall we begin?"

The rigid students offered neither positive nor negative responses. Lord Syrosk offered a quick, low chortle at his students apparent dismay toward their weighted limbs. Burdening metallic weights clamped over the acolyte's usual gear, heavy enough to even affect the usually steadfast Trandoshan. A fact that brought further delight to the Sith Lord.

"Nesk and Vurt. Since you were last to complete yesterday's challenge, you will be the first to duel. Now… who should you face?" Syrosk asked of no one in particular. Lorrik saw Jresh's eyes narrow eagerly awaiting his master's answer as if possessing a preference. The Pureblood seemed to desire a particular matching, rather than wanting to go first.

"Isorr and Arlia. Step forward," Syrosk called out. "You four will compete."

A smile surfaced on Jresh's face. Lorrik was particularly confused with his partner's behavior.

"Hmm, figured you'd want another shot at Isorr," Lorrik admitted.

"Oh, I do," Jresh confirmed. The Human puzzled for a moment before being interrupted by his master.

"Given the limited mobility you will be experiencing, there's no need to limit ourselves to the use of the dueling circle. Therefore, the other four acolytes will duel as well," Syrosk explained. "Ready yourselves. The duel is finished when your opponents are forced to the ground. However, in order to be declared the winner, both opponents must lie on the ground simultaneously."

The two groups of four made their ways to separate ends of the cliff before the pairs put a short distance between them and their opponents.

* * *

_All eight students engaging in combat at the same time, there was no time for passive observations, only the intense focus to be laid upon one's foe. And meanwhile, Lord Syrosk would be watching all of us simultaneously. Keeping track of our movements and techniques, it would take someone of sufficient training to perceive such a chaotic scene. Then again, maybe he was done with in-depth analysis, and just wanted to stand back and watch us wail on each other. But somehow I doubt that, given the Sith Lord's habits. He presents himself like someone utterly sure of himself and others. Little seems to pass by him without acknowledgement. Then again, the stunt Jresh pulled would be hard to miss by any instructor. _

_In the beginning, I thought Jresh would have wanted nothing more than to face Isorr in combat, entering without the injury that inhibited him before. If our pairs were grouped, we could combat them fresh, without the weights and duels striking us from the peak of our performances. Since we had to go through Kar'ai and Ryloh first, however, there was no way to ensure that. Except for one._

* * *

Lorrik and Jresh stood side by side, facing their opponents who did the same. Unable to break their gazes from one another, the four acolytes drew their training sabers and adopted their respective stances. Bearing the same movements as their first duel under Syrosk, each acolyte had little time or reason to modify their combat techniques. As the winds of the high cliffs bustled, the students were ready to begin their duels.

"Lorrik, I'm going to have to ask you to follow my lead," Jresh whispered to his companion.

"Well, I was planning on doing that anyway," Lorrik joked.

"I just don't want you to be too surprised."

The conversation between the two acolytes was cut short by the immediate call to begin by their master a short distance away. Jresh wasted nary a moment to make his way toward his opponents. Kar'ai matched the Pureblood's haste step for step. The two warriors clashed at the midway point between the two inquisitors. Lorrik was unsure of how to proceed.

Given Jresh's request, he thought to charge Ryloh, but the Twi'lek remained on the far side of the dueling space, preparing himself for whatever future actions might unfold. Pressing forward, Lorrik saw Ryloh match his movements. As the two inquisitors drew ever closer, they remained on the defense, neither bringing their saber against the other. Glancing over to his partner, Lorrik saw Jresh locking his saber with Kar'ai's, each pushing forward. Looking over for but a moment, Jresh offered only a nod of his head.

Propelling himself backwards, Jresh unlocked himself from the clash. To the shock of both his partner and his opponents, Jresh continued backwards, falling, until he lay upon his back atop the dusty grounds. The other three combatants were momentarily stunned, as Lorrik processed that his companion had no intention of rising. Suddenly, the Human saw the subtle movement of Jresh's hand, commanding him to fall as well. Understanding the Pureblood's previous words, Lorrik followed, falling upon the ground will little more than the wind affecting him. Kar'ai and Ryloh continued their puzzled countenance as Syrosk quickly declared them the winners a short distance away.

* * *

_Jresh did have his eyes set on Isorr. And only on Isorr. He knew that with duels separating their conflict, it was inevitable that the fights would begin to take a toll on the warriors' resolves. Jresh wanted to be fresh when he eventually faced the Zabrak, and knew he could ensure that by throwing the fight. He seemed willing to accept defeat, at least in the eyes of Syrosk, if it meant furthering his own goals. Isorr meanwhile, was utterly too prideful to adopt such a course of action. _

_Honestly, I'm proud of Jresh. It reminds me of the conversation we had, on the cliffs after our first defeat. He took it somewhat hard. Then again I had just truck him across the chest and insured his defeat not too long beforehand, but the man was, and is, determined to win. It was I who tried to convince him that an untrue defeat is still a defeat in the eyes of our master. Funny how he turned that around on me. _

"_True victory lies not after a single battle." _

_It's amazing how different he could be, yet remain dedicatedly the same. It makes me happy to see it. I was beginning to wonder what our extended consequences on each other would be. I was afraid that neither of us might be the person we were entering into this pairing. But now I see, that remarkable individuals can survive this Academy without being forced to abandon what they think, what they believe. I can still gain strength, knowledge, understanding, and not compromise what makes me, me. _

_As short as our duel was, the other two groups continued for some time. We watched from the sidelines, while Kar'ai and Ryloh conversed out of earshot. The Twi'lek seemed relieved to have escape unscathed, and the Rattataki didn't seem to admonish or reject her partner's feelings. I'm almost disappointed our duel didn't last longer. I would have loved to gain some insight into their behavior. Combat has a way of revealing such things. _

_When the other four did finish, Syrosk organized a new set of duels, without commenting on any of our performances. He declared that the victor would face the victors, whilst the losers face the losers. This meant we had another duel between us and Isorr. It was about then that I realized that I would soon be facing Arlia yet again. I didn't harbor any real feelings of animosity. And I doubt she thinks of me the same way that Isorr and Jresh think of one another. _

_I'd like to think we have a rivalry, but her feelings of superiority seem to propagate an utter dismissal of those she views as below her. Isorr is similar. However, with him, I get impression that he views others as nothing more than objects, tools, or pests. Arlia seems to acknowledge the inherent worthiness of humanity and sentience present in others. I'd say this gives her a wider spectrum with which to affect those around her. She feels, and understands the feelings of others. A positive trait. However, her ability to manipulate those facets to her benefit is remarkably dangerous. _

_But we still had to get through Nesk and Vurt before we could face our rivals. Jresh seemed intent on continuing his strategy. It seems the monstrous pair was too focused on their previous duel to have broken away to catch a glimpse at our prior antics, as they possessed the same stupefied expression when we did it again. It was quite amusing, I must admit, seeing Nesk doing his usual snarly emoting when presented with something he didn't understand. Vurt on the other hand, remained the expressionless, cold, brutal figure he always was, though I could have sworn he raised an eyebrow at the events that took place in front of him. _

_Once again, Syrosk declared our opponents the victor, without a comment directed toward our actions. Given the ridiculousness of our surrendering to two duels, I tried my hardest not to make eye contact with our master, but when I did make an errant glance over to him, I saw that he bore no inherent signs of disappointment. In fact, it seemed like he just wanted to understand our motives, and what we were ultimately hoping to accomplish. The next duel, he got his answer._

* * *

For the third time, Lorrik and Jresh found themselves standing opposite a new pair of opponents. The last swap, the final duel in this series was to begin in a short moment, to the delight of Jresh. Across from the pair, Isorr and Arlia looked to be standing ready and able to compete, but the signs of exhaustion were beginning to show. Lorrik studied Arlia closely. Having fallen to her trickery before, he made important note of the differences in her stance between now and the faux-exhaustion she displayed in their previous duel. It was the genuine thing. Meanwhile, Lorrik and Jresh stood resolute, ready to proceed at peak efficiency.

"Looks like it's time for a rematch, Isorr," Jresh plainly stated.

"You think I didn't notice what you were doing, Jresh?" Isorr shot back, noticeably angered with his predicament.

"It makes no difference whether you are aware or not. I still intend to defeat you this day," Jresh explained.

Isorr sharpened his gaze, staring down the Pureblood. "What will that prove? You still lost two of your duels. You can't statistically come ahead."

"Today was never about statistics. Today, I will strike you down, and we will be even. We will enter combat, one of us at a disadvantage, just as before. Once this has been settled, we can begin our training in earnest."

Lorrik and Arlia watched their partners go back and forth. Arlia was intent on not allowing herself to waste any more energy on pointless banter, and Lorrik was intent on allowing Jresh to receive the full satisfaction of what he had set out to do that day.

* * *

_In the end, all Isorr and Arlia had to do was lie down, use our own trick against us. Then, we wouldn't able to experience the satisfaction of beating them in a proper duel. What they lost would be made up in the fact that our entire ruse was for not, and we effectively wasted a day of training, possibly earning the ire of our master. They just had to take a step back, and remove themselves from the monumental pride that drove their every action. Jresh and I, however, knew better. _

_They did not disappoint._


	21. 1-20 Falls

**Chapter Twenty: Falls**

_Lorrik Velash's Journal: Day Six, Entry Four. _

_Woke up this morning in a peculiar state. My mind was swarming with competing positive and negative emotions. Lord Syrosk ordered that we keep the weighted bands from yesterday's training on the whole day, saying we could take them off at midnight. There was no threat if we didn't, and no way for him to know within the privacy of our rooms, and yet we kept them on. Maybe we didn't want to risk offending him with more deviant behavior considering our handling of the duels yesterday. Then again, he didn't seem to mind how we handled them. After we won our duel with Arlia and Isorr, we delved into advanced saber training, focusing on refining our individual styles. Never did he speak ill of our actions. Rarely did he speak at all, unless to impart upon us some martial wisdoms. So we trained until we were sore. I went to bed, fully garbed and weighted down. Managed to forget about it overnight. Woke up in a heavy stupor. Feel embarrassed thinking about it. _

_Yesterday was a bit of fun for me and Jresh. We set out to accomplish a singular goal for the sole purpose of pride. If we're going to improve, we're going to have to be beaten down, face resistance, adapt. We took an easy route the other day to accomplish our goal, something I hadn't thought possible of Jresh. Do I think it was a mistake? Not in the slightest. We're in for a marathon of training. Forgoing a couple of duels isn't going to inhibit us. In the end, I think it'll prove to have been a good choice. While we may have missed out on a small bit of physical trauma, I think we struck a mental blow to our rivals. We showed that we are determined. That we will not back down if challenged. We beat Arlia and Isorr. They'll have to live with that fact, no matter the circumstances. _

_But the circumstances are what allowed us to do what we did. Today's trial did not allow for one iota of hesitation, indetermination, or fault._

* * *

As the students of Lord Syrosk gathered once more for their day of training, there was much amiss. In the student's positions. In their numbers. Instead of their usual spot atop the traditional cliff, the four inquisitors stood at the base of the ridge, at the bottom of the sheer cliff face they had oft looked over in previous days. The four students stood alone, their partners and master absent, gazing upward at the precipitous peak. Side by side, the acolytes stood focused and patient, embodying the archetype they had studied before their tutelage under the Sith Lord.

"I sincerely hope this isn't the master's way of punishing us for yesterday's stunt," Lorrik muttered, not breaking his upward gaze.

"Us who? Us us, or you and your companion?" Arlia snidely asked, also not breaking her upward gaze.

"Well, I was thinking me and Jresh," Lorrik said. "But considering we're all doing this, I'd guess this is just another one of his training methods."

The female Twi'lek let out a singular, sarcastic chuckle. "Yes, a Sith Lord would never zealously overreach when designing a punishment for a particular person."

"If this was designed to punish me it was poorly conceived. I'm probably the most likely to succeed in this task," Lorrik nonchalantly stated.

"Ugh. I liked you more when you were pitifully timid," Arlia replied.

"If it means anything, I like you pretty much the same amount as I always have," Lorrik offered, completely deadpan.

"I don't know if I should be worried by that statement," Arlia muttered.

"You needn't worry about me harboring feelings for you, I'd sooner find companionship in Ryloh," Lorrik plainly admitted.

The male Twi'lek broke his upward gaze to look toward the Human. "Thank… you?"

"You simply haven't had any profound impact on me Arlia," Lorrik stated.

"You know that's not true," Arlia countered.

"Do I? Do you?" Lorrik asked, testing his fellow inquisitor. "I don't hate you as much as you might like me to. Then again, I don't hate much of anything."

Arlia offered a playful scoff. "What is a Sith without hate?"

The Human offered a slight shrug. "Whatever. Try not to slip up on your test."

"You don't have to worry about me," Arlia admitted. "The others maybe, but not me."

"You're right," Lorrik muttered. "Ryloh, you may want to take a step away from Vurt. If he fails, it could get messy for you."

The blue Twi'lek looked to his left to see the orange Nikto staring upward with his traditional scowl, completely ignoring whatever banter proceeded around him.

Standing atop the cliff, ever so close to the precipitous edge, the warriors stood with their master staring them down. Despite the more traditional training local, the warriors managed to outclass the inquisitors in peculiarity. They stood with their backs to the cliff's edge, where their partners awaited them directly below, roughly a hundred meters of height separating them. Their stance was utterly and completely rigid, with their hands by their sides and their feet together, though not particularly by their own volition. This was due to each of the warriors being bound, from their chest to their knees, in tightly wound rope.

"Warriors, you stand here today… with your life not held in my hands, as you might have oft thought, but in the hands of your partners," Syrosk explained with his usual cold, raspy delivery. "They were inquisitors in their training before mine. I shan't depart from that formula. It was their purpose, to harness the raw energies of the Force. To rend enemies asunder with only their minds, sapping the life out of a foe before they could even draw their saber. The Force, however… the dark side, requires something extra to maximize on potential. The inquisitor must be driven, thriving off of emotions. The inquisitor must be dedicated, understanding exactly how much they must give to accomplish a task. They must appreciate… the consequences of failure. Unfortunately, it is rather hard to instill these axioms in the mind of the inquisitor. Therefore, in order to prompt them to reach their fullest potential, we're going to give them a little push… by giving you a little push. Now, do we have any volunteers?"

The warriors were understandably silent. A creeping look of indecision graced the faces of the acolytes. Their heels all but hinged on the edge of the cliff, their backs to the treacherous fall that awaited them. Suddenly, one of the warriors mustered up the courage to speak.

"I… I volunteer," Kar'ai meekly stated, struggling to call upon her usual boisterousness.

"Ah, for a moment I was almost disappointed in you. I was sure the tumultuous Kar'ai would want to go first, and you did not disappoint. It matters not, however. That was just a little something for me. You don't actually get to decide who goes first," Syrosk rasped.

"Then who does?" Kar'ai asked.

"I do," Syrosk plainly stated.

"No, I meant, who goes first?" Kar'ai clarified.

"Oh, no one goes first," Syrosk answered. The warriors puzzled for but a moment before they saw their master quickly jut his hand forward, sending the four over the cliff's edge with a Force push.

The acolytes fell backward and began their accelerated plummet toward their partners below. At the ridge's base, the inquisitor's caught sight of the falling figures. The Korriban sun above them, the students had the luxury of standing in the cliff's shade, allowing them to fully concentrate on catching their partners. Unanimously the inquisitors stretched their hands upward, attempting to slow their partners' decent with the Force. The warriors, utterly bound and unable to break free, were forced to rely on the proficiency of their companions to save them from death as they fell head first toward the rocky canyon below.

Lorrik, like his fellows, was completely concentrated on his goal. Invisible waves of Force emanated from his palms, surging upward toward Jresh, pressing against him, embracing and wrapping around his body in its entirety. Though the Pureblood showed signs of slowing, the weight and momentum of his fall pressed back against the inquisitor, straining his hands, his mind, and his focus. Jresh meanwhile, adopted a serene visage, closing his eyes and slowing his breath, as if resigning his fate to his companion.

The warriors closed in on the grounds below, however, most of them were sufficiently slowed. The aberrant team was that of Vurt and Nesk. Though slowed to the point of survival, the Vurt was unable to completely stop the hefty Trandoshan before he came crashing down upon him. The pair was knocked to the ground, kicking up a small plume of dust. The thud was enough to distract the neighboring Ryloh, who lost his grip on floating Rattataki above. As Kar'ai zoomed toward the ground, she called out to her partner, who in a moment of panic, was able to fully stop her fall as her eyes became level with his.

"Fine work," Kar'ai breathlessly said to Ryloh before stretching to plant a soft kiss on the Twi'lek's forehead. Lorrik and Arlia managed to gracefully prevent the impact of their partners on the dusty canyon floor, telekinetically rotating them right-side up and gently planting their feet upon the ground.

Despite the ordeal, Jresh maintained his usual stoicism. "Good to see your study and knowledge of the Force transfers into application."

"Thanks," Lorrik replied. "You looked pretty calm. Glad to see you were confident in me."

"I was actually concentrating in case I had to Force push against the ground to slow myself," Jresh admitted.

"Wait, so you didn't think I could do this?" Lorrik asked, his ego sufficiently bruised.

"I would never bet my life on the outcome of a variable I could not control. I trust you, and I'd trust my life to you, but you can't expect me to do nothing while I am capable of action, as incapable as I may appear at the moment."

Arlia offered a bout of teasing laughter. "Looks like the 'most likely to succeed' required some assistance in his trial."

"Isorr was doing the same," Jresh bluntly stated. Arlia shot a frustrated look at her stone-faced companion.

"Do I look like someone who would ever allow his fate to be dictated by another?" Isorr coldly asked. Arlia let out a quieted scoff at the Zabrak's brashness.

With all the students together once more, they attempted to recover from the ordeal in their own ways. Lorrik offered a laugh alongside the placid Jresh. Arlia barked at the tiring Isorr. Ryloh absorbed Kar'ai's further words of praise with a reserved smile. Vurt stood over a still prone Nesk, who growled and squirmed against the dusty foundation.

"Well, that didn't take up too much time. I wonder what the rest of the day's training will entail," Lorrik unknowingly muttered. As if on cue, the acolytes' master shouted down at them from the peak above.

"Excellent, I sense that you all remain amongst the living," Syrosk stated, uncharacteristically loud, yet unable to shed his usual raspy cadence. "Your next trial is to join me and reconvene at the top of the cliff. With the warriors still bound, it will be up to the inquisitors to tend to their mobility."

"Wait… does he mean…" Ryloh whispered.

"We have to carry them," Arlia stated, planting her palm firmly over her face.

The inquisitors breathed a heavy sigh of exhaustion before their next trial had even properly begun. Bearing the burden of their partners upon their back, the paired acolytes slowly began their trek out of the canyon and back up toward their master.

* * *

_That was a rather grueling task. I think I prefer the psychological games and intense trials presented in quick bursts rather than the prolonged physical trauma. Then again, training is training. I need to be in top physical condition if I am to outclass my fellow inquisitors or stand a chance going toe to toe with one of the warriors. Last thing I want is to be knocked out because Vurt gets in a good punch. And with the benefits I reaped from my 'encounter' with Ornell, trials of the body seem to be rather important in developing my mind and spirit as well. _

_Managed to get Jresh back up to the usual training grounds. Did most of the heavy lifting with the Force. As peculiar as the master's methods seem to be at times, they all seemed grounded in traditional means of training adopted by the Sith. Perusing through some of the data logs I have in my collection, everything seems to sync up. Sustained use of Force lifting, like holding up a large rock for a prolonged period. We were holding up our partners for the long trip up the mountain. The drop off the cliff coincides with records of traumatic and shocking experiences triggering untapped power within a Force user. _

_It seems that Lord Syrosk has every intention of training us. Making us into actual Sith, or at least building us up until he can choose a proper set of apprentices. I don't know if that should relieve or worry me. Such peculiarity in his previous actions. Why eight students? Why halves composed of separate teachings? Rarely does a Sith Lord move outside the realm of tradition unless intending to reap some untold reward, but I honestly can't fathom what that might be for Syrosk. How could we be so special? What could we give him? I don't know. _

_Today did shine some lights on a few things, luckily. I no longer believe Arlia and Isorr to be the prime threat to our apprenticeship. Isorr and Arlia are talented individuals, but they will always be just that. Individuals. They are too combative and counter-productive to one another, refusing to relinquish their selfishness. Vurt and Nesk still prove to be disjointed, primal in their attitudes and their techniques. A short-term danger if presented as opponents in combative trials, but nothing Jresh and I can't overcome. _

_Kar'ai and Ryloh, however, prove to be an interesting pair. The interaction between the two show that there is a connection between them. Whether it is romantic or little more than playful back and forth is unknown, but as a team, they could prove to be a match for us. They thrive on emotions besides hatred and fury, finding joy in their activities. Kar'ai seems to be promoting and pushing Ryloh forward, bringing out something that might have never surfaced in other avenues. I can only guess that the same goes in the other direction. If they are indeed embracing this partnership, it would seem that they aren't too different from me and Jresh. _

_As fascinating as it is troubling._


	22. 1-21 Days

**Chapter Twenty One: Days**

_Lorrik Velash's Journal: Day Seven, Entry Five. _

_Looks like we've finally reach a week of training. Though, with Korriban days being twenty eight hours, things become a little skewed when comparing with the standardized calendar. It's something of a joke told around here that the Sith Lords squeezed an extra four hours out of the day as a way of punishing the acolytes. Because if there's one thing that is pretty unanimously agreed on, it's a Sith Lord's adoration for giving out punishments. _

_I was rather lucky today, relatively speaking. The inquisitors had it easy compared to yesterday's trial. It seemed that our roles were reversed today, with the warriors forced to face bodily hardship. They were forced to literally bear the burden of the inquisitors upon their backs. The warriors faced off against one another in a series of duels, all the while the inquisitors grasped on to them like a backpack. Legs hooked around the waist, arms over the shoulders and hooking across the chest. _

_We literally fought as one. Me and my ilk would throw out the occasional Force push, stabilize our partners, or talk the warriors through the duel. A peculiar trial. Metaphorical none the less. A little too on the nose. Speaking of which, flatfaced Vurt managed to make a comeback today with Nesk. I knew they'd be fierce combative competitors. Nesk seemed barely fazed by the additional weight on his torso, and Vurt seemed the accomplished dueling supplement. Ryloh and Kar'ai seemed comfortable with the prolonged embrace, and Arlia and Isorr managed to put their stubbornness aside for the task. All in all, none of the pairs are showing any signs of falling behind. _

_I suppose that's good for me and Jresh. Can't get any better ourselves if we're only dealing with stagnant opponents. Makes me wonder what training will be like if we're the master's only apprentices. Thinking back to the beginning our of lives under Lord Syrosk, he did state that we could only be his apprentices after we've proven ourselves. But for the life of me, I can't recall him ever stating the apprenticeship would only belong to one pair. Then again, I can't remember him stating if apprenticeship would belong a pair at all. He could still order us to strike down our partners at any moment in our future. Maybe only one of will be his apprentice. Maybe all eight of us will be. Lord Syrosk is developing quite the habit of raising more questions than answers. _

_I am sure of one thing, I could never bring myself to kill Jresh. I know that may sound like weakness, aberrant Sith methodology, or what have you. But I think the two of us together could accomplish more than either of us could alone, even if presenting with the full on training of a Sith Lord. I know it sounds weird, finding more worth in two acolytes than a master and his apprentice. I also know that when we talked about this subject, I told him I didn't know if I would kill him if ordered to, and that was the adequate answer. Always keeping options open, never relinquishing control of ourselves at the behest of someone else. By saying I could never kill Jresh, I've effectively shackled myself to an ideal. I'm not quite sure what to make of that. _

_With the intensity of the training over the past days, Jresh and I have had little time to converse. Utterly focused on the events of the day to follow and driven to exhaustion by the day's end. I miss the talks of codes, and philosophies, and ideals, and motives. Oh well, training is training. There will be time to talk when we're at the top._

* * *

_Lorrik Velash's Journal: Day Eight, Entry Six. _

_Lord Syrosk has afforded us a day off today. I should be ecstatic, and yet all I can think about is how this is some weird test he has orchestrated for us. For some reason, I'm all but sure he's monitoring us. Watching, listening, or something. He's a Sith Lord, maybe he's got some sort of power of cognitive awareness. Or maybe he gave us these rooms because they're bugged with monitoring equipment. Which would mean.. he could hear me right now, couldn't he? Hell, even if he couldn't he could probably just read my mind. Sith Lords can do that, can't they? _

_I'm recording today at midday. A boon of special requisitions from the quartermaster arrived today, ahead of the standard ten day resupply schedule. Now we've got some genuine meats for me to cook with. The slugs and hounds of Korriban aren't prime sources for tasty parcels. Now we've got a fully stocked freezer. Which is good, because I don't think Jresh would have put up with any more sweet stuffs. He seems the carnivorous sort. _

_We just finished lunch, overall Jresh seemed impressed with my work. With no official trials to prepare for, we were able to engage in one another in conversation, something I was happy to partake in. Jresh seems to be less reserved, though he tends to be a little blunt at times. He has no qualms of addressing any perceived faults in my performances in the master's trials. Even with a mouth full of cooked meat he can remind you how your stance can be improved. _

_But it's one of the things I enjoy most about his companionship. My time in the Academy has mostly presented me with people who would utterly ignore my presence, either through disdain or plain disinterest. It's good to see he's genuinely interested in my well-being and progression as an acolyte. _

_Unable to keep his body or mind still for a moment, Jresh has suggested we organize things around the suite. He has a particular meticulousness about him that is hard to notice. It makes sense. Always measuring, calculating, making sure that not one minute measure of energy or motion is wasted. He's made standing still into a science, something that promotes mental acuity. But for today, we're doing a bit of light cleanup. After that, not sure what we'll do. I may record another entry._

* * *

_Lorrik Velash's Journal: Day Fifteen, Entry Seven. _

_Emperor be praised, I finally found this blasted thing! What has it been, a week since I last recorded in this journal? Must have misplaced it when Jresh and I were attempting to organize the suite. I don't exactly see how you can consider it organizing if I can't find anything afterward! Picking up everything and tucking it away, under other items in a bedside drawer that I never use, is not doing anyone any favors. I don't even know how it got there. I don't think I put it there then forgot it. Makes me wonder, wonder if Jresh put it there. _

_There's a chance it was Jresh. But that raises yet another concern, whether or not he partook in a listen before putting it away. Maybe he hid it from me because he didn't like what he saw. Because he thought it was working against me. No. No. Can't start getting paranoid about my own partner. Have plenty to worry about with the other acolytes. Thought Vurt was honestly going to kill someone the other day. Right in front of Syrosk. Bunch of crazies in this group. _

_Well, haven't the time to record more. It's still the morning and Jresh is rushing me out the door. Just wanted to quickly record something now that I've found this. Any more will have to wait._

* * *

_Lorrik Velash's Journal: Day Sixteen, Entry Eight. _

_I guess I never got around to recording again the other day. Understandable, considering how exhausted I was after the day's training. Today's not dissimilar. I'm struggling to formulate the words. I can understand my arms and legs giving up on me, but feeling my mind slip is something an inquisitor never takes lightly. When Syrosk declared we'd be tested on every facet of our being, he was not kidding. Not that I once thought him the kidding type. Horned grump. _

_I have to admit, despite his raspy, overly articulative speech patterns, he's not exactly what I expected of a Sith Lord. I expected far more death threats, declarations of "Insolent whelp!", and such grandiose displays. He almost possesses a sense of humor, in a weirdly sordid, debased manner. Don't think I've seen him crack a smile, but he's let out a few chortles at our misfortune every now and again. Who knows, maybe as an apprentice, with some more time spent in his company, he could prove the enjoyable, conversational fellow. I'd hate to become his apprentice just to find out he's an absolute terror to be around. Hate for the whole "Sith Succession" thing to be forced out of annoyance rather than a greedy power grab or mischievous backstabbing. _

_So this is what the Academy has done to me. Made me into someone who just thinks casually of his friend's and master's deaths. As matter of inconvenience rather than heart wrenching quarrels to be overcome physically and emotionally. Then again, I'd say we're not too different from the Jedi in that fashion. They are taught to understand that death is a way of life, a natural occurrence that should not be negatively dwelt upon. We Sith just like to take the whole 'natural occurrence' to a new level. _

_Feels weird saying that. "We Sith". I mean, we're obviously Sith, me and Jresh, but we are obviously not as well. As ambitious as our goals are, we'd be fooling ourselves if we could move forward in this society and the galaxy at large without accruing something of a body count. I just can't seem to find that inner drive to permanently remove someone's presence from this realm. Then again, with Force-users there's rarely anything permanent. But I can't see myself marching into battle, slaying enemies of the Empire left and right. And I know Jresh isn't one for needless slaughter. He has his, 'leave enemies alive so that they may challenge you again later', philosophy. I simply think of every foe as a potential ally. _

_At the end of the day, it's accomplishing the same thing. One less enemy to deal with, with the added boon of a new force on your side. Then again, I guess our side isn't much for long-term alliances. There is power in conflict. Yet I desire peace. Does cooperation truly breed laziness? Complacency? The Republic's version does, for sure. Everyone united under a single 'banner' and yet rampant plagues of crime and disorderly conduct take place, if not thrive because of which. Survival of the fittest leave only the strong, but despite their strength, they will remain the few and eventually fade into nothing. Total unionization anchors the populace to the lowest of the low, or raises them to a point in which they begin to crack the foundational structures that support them. _

_Oh well, I can worry about the galaxy at large when I'm a Lord. For now, I need to rest._

* * *

_Lorrik Velash's Journal: Day Seventeen, Entry Nine._

_So today was a weird day. Woke up thirty second before my alarm went off. Everything for breakfast tasted… weird. Like, slightly off. Like maybe there was a little too much salt on everything. Everything. Even things I know I didn't put salt on. Weird. What else... what else? Oh yeah, I had to duel Jresh today…_


	23. 1-22 Companions

**Chapter Twenty Two: Companions**

Day seventeen of training. Korriban. Exterior. Midday. The temperature had no place in the acolytes' minds. Their concentration was completely and utterly focused on their trial. The task for the day had been set. By the decree of Lord Syrosk, one on one duels would take place, between the warriors and their allied inquisitors. Isorr versus Arlia. Kar'ai versus Ryloh. Nesk versus Vurt. Jresh versus Lorrik.

Each duel had been held in isolation, no others taking place alongside it, allowing the Sith Lord and the resting acolytes to gaze upon the proceedings with watchful eyes. And watch they did. To the slight detriment of Lorrik's confidence. As each duel took place, it did not carry a beneficial trend. In almost all contests the warrior bested their partner, with the exception of Vurt claiming slight victory over the Trandoshan.

The time had come for Jresh and Lorrik to finally duel. The finality rested not just with that day, but with the entirety of the students' training under Lord Syrosk. Lorrik knew this day was coming, sooner or later. Honestly, the inquisitor thought it would come at the behest of Jresh rather than their master, and much closer to their first day together.

The walk into the ancient dueling circle had seemed bordering on an eternity for Lorrik. The same couldn't be said for Jresh. For the warrior, this was just another opponent he had not yet tested himself against. A foe he had not yet the pleasure of engaging in martial combat. Someone he had only been able to gauge through his eyes instead of the competing clash of the blade. Improvement required one to be tested, and pushed to the limit. If such events could not occur for one, it could certainly for the other. The perfect design in Jresh's mind. There was not a single negative aspect he could draw upon when it came to dueling his ally. His partner. His friend.

The two acolytes looked upon one another on opposing ends of the dueling circle, both possessing utterly calm and focused visages. As much as he didn't relish the idea of charging straightforward into pain, Lorrik knew worse would befall him if he could not supply his partner with a proper duel.

"Lorrik. I hope I do not need to ask you to not take it easy on me," Jresh calmly spoke up, his quiet voice easily carrying itself across the arena.

"Don't worry Jresh, I know better than to try and go easy on you," Lorrik calmly replied, masking any hidden hesitance that might yet remain within him.

"Good. I hope I also do not need to remind you that I will not be holding back," Jresh further explained.

"I hear you loud and clear, partner," Lorrik said, forcing out a certain degree of positivity. Situated between the duelists and their colleagues, Syrosk stood with his bitter gaze upon the two acolytes.

"Students! Prepare yourselves," Syrosk called out in his usual tone. The acolytes complied, each adopting their preferred stance and igniting their training sabers. Lorrik raised his saber and directed its tip toward Jresh, sliding his right foot backward, his free hand raised parallel with the blade and possessing an open palm. Jresh gripped his training saber with both hands, but kept his guard low and at his front, rather than his usual high guarded stance. Already Lorrik had already begun to process the data of battle within his head as he studied his opponent. With a drop of his hand, Lord Syrosk had signaled for the duel to begin in earnest.

Expecting Jresh to remain still, with the idea of refusing to allow Lorrik the ability to study and counteract his opponent, the inquisitor was unable to retaliate when Jresh immediately rejected this plan, deciding to instead charge down on his partner at full speed. Trying to quickly reinforce his guard with his free hand, the inquisitor failed to adequately guard against the warrior's first strike. Instead of a traditional swing, Jresh used the entirety of his weight supplemented by a Force-accelerated charge to drive his shoulder into Lorrik, tackling him and sending him tumbling across the dusty foundation. After a few bounces on the dirt, the fallen acolyte managed to cut his journey just short of dueling circle's outer boundary.

Lorrik looked up to see his companion had not taken a moment of pause, charging down upon his person yet again, this time intending to bring his saber down upon him. Pushing himself off the ground, the inquisitor met with Jresh, clashing their sabers against each other's. Knowing he was outmatched strength-wise, Lorrik ceded the contest, allowing Jresh to push his blade forward. Ducking to the side, Lorrik maneuvered to his flank as the Pureblood's momentum keep him moving forward. The inquisitor attempted to bring his saber down upon his partner's back, but instead found his action interrupted by Jresh jutting his foot back, knocking the Human's leg out from under him.

Tumbling to the ground once more, Lorrik lifted his face from the dust to see another boot about to impact against him. The warrior intently pursued the dexterous inquisitor as he attempted to roll away. As Jresh once more swung his saber down, Lorrik batted it out of the way with his own, causing the Pureblood to stumble downward himself. Capitalizing on the movement, Lorrik thrust the tip of his saber upward, digging it into the warrior stomach. As Jresh rolled away in pain, Lorrik was able to return to his feet. It wasn't long before his partner attempted to do the same.

Going on the offensive, the inquisitor swung his saber down upon a kneeling Jresh. The warrior deflected with a twist of his blade, and delivered a staggering uppercut with the pommel of his weapon to Lorrik's chin. Still reeling, Lorrik was unable to avoid Jresh sweeping his leg out from under him. Impacting hard against the flat of his back, Lorrik watched as Jresh raised a boot to stomp his chest. With his free hand, the Human drove a fist into the firmly planted leg of the Pureblood. Destabilized, the warrior fell forward intending to land the sum total of his weight on top of the fallen inquisitor. As his partner was falling, Lorrik let go of his saber and let loose a powerful telekinetic thrust from his coupled hands. Jresh immediately went flying through the air, landing hard against the dirt on the other side of the arena.

Grabbing his saber and returning to his feet, Lorrik was greeted to the light smattering of applause to his rear from three of his fellows. It had seemed the division between warrior and inquisitor had now taken precedence over competing partnerships. Enamored by the delightful display, Lorrik missed the upright Pureblood approaching him. Raising his guard, the Human was only barely able to bear the downward swing Jresh furiously brought upon his partner. The next was even less defended against. And the next even less. One after another, Jresh raised his blade before promptly bringing it back down upon the now kneeling opponent, bashing away at the depleting guard. With one final swing, Jresh pressed through impacting his saber against Lorrik's shoulder.

Intending to end the duel, Jresh offered one more strike against the downed inquisitor. Ducking to the side, Lorrik was able to dodge out of the way, giving him the time and room to swing his blade at the Pureblood's side, impacting against his hip. Still upon the ground, Lorrik unable to dodge the retaliatory boot to the gut that sent the Human rolling away as the warrior clutched his side. Steadying himself, Lorrik found himself incapable of firmly grasping his saber with both hand due to his injured shoulder. Jresh appeared no worse for wear, fully masking any detriment he might possibly be experiencing.

But Lorrik knew better. Jresh's form had always relatively lacked mobility. With an injured hip, that weakness could be exploited. Lorrik made his way toward Jresh, directing the tip of his saber toward his opponent. His foe charging, Jresh did little to prepare himself or guard against the attack, barely raising his saber from his side. Now upon the warrior, Lorrik drew his saber back, intent on delivering a piercing thrust of his weapon. However, his want would have to go unfulfilled. With a deep breath Jresh let loose a primal shout toward his opponent. Coupled with an exertion of the Force, the powerful, deafening voice impacted against the entirety of Lorrik's body, churning his insides and sending him stumbling back.

Walking forward, Jresh swung his saber horizontally at the inquisitor. The Human attempted to raised his guard, but when the two sabers impacted against one another, Lorrik's went flying out of his hand, eventually landing outside the confines of the dueling circle. Defenseless, the inquisitor was unable to counter the warrior's backhanded strike against his cheek, flooring the Human and sending him face first into the dirt. Slowly the fallen acolyte squirmed amongst the dust, eagerly trying to raise himself. His hands pressing against the surface below him, he slowly lifted himself off of the ground, until Jresh drove him back to his belly with a kick of his boot. Turning over, Lorrik saw the tip of his partner's saber hovering only a sliver away from his face.

"Yield?" Jresh calmly asked. Rather than speak, Lorrik supplied his answer by gripping the ignited training saber, his gloves absorbing most of the heat, and drug his partner downward. His partner falling once more, Lorrik thrust his right hand forward until it touched his partner's chest. His palm resting against the Pureblood's sternum, the inquisitor unleashed a powerful torrent of telekinetic energy. As the Force wave passed through the warrior's chest, he fell over, the entirety of his breath vacated from his lungs.

Trying his hardest to breath, Jresh relinquished the grip on his saber, allowing Lorrik to pick it up as he regained his footing. The powerful shockwave he emitted had actually torn the glove material from his hand, leaving only tatters of black cloth surrounding the inquisitor's right wrist. Gripping the saber with his ungloved hand, the inquisitor directed its tip toward the face of his fallen companion.

"Yield?" Lorrik asked, breathing heavy and utterly exasperated. Rather than speak, Jresh supplied his answer by batting the saber out of his face with the back of his hand. Once more the saber flew from the confines of the dueling arena. Rising from the dust, Jresh and Lorrik now stared each other down, each without their saber. Jresh was the first to raise his fists, but Lorrik promptly followed. Creeping ever closer, the two were within each other's reach.

Jresh threw the first punch. It passed by Lorrik's head as he ducked out of the way. The inquisitor offered his own punch directed toward the warrior's already injured hip. The hit landed, causing the Pureblood to yelp in pain. Jresh offered a retaliatory backhand that impacted against Lorrik's already injured shoulder. Dropping to a knee, the inquisitor thrust his elbow into Jresh's gut. Bending over, the warrior clasped his hands together and brought them down upon the back of Lorrik's neck.

The Pureblood lifted a boot only to have the other one swept out from under him. The two struggled against one another on the ground, kicking up a small cloud of dust as they flailed their failing limbs against one another. Finally rolling away from each other, the two put some distance between them and slowly but surely rose to their feet. The two locked their gazes, each utterly committed to ending the duel. And end it would, as the two figures charged toward one another.

As they neared, about to trade blows one last time, Lorrik altered his course slightly to the side. Grabbing ahold of his partner's shoulder, the Human swung around to the Pureblood's flank. With one hand over the left shoulder and gripping his opponent's robes, Lorrik wrapped the other around the opposite shoulder, placing his ungloved hand over Jresh's mouth. Hooking his legs to the warrior's waist, the inquisitor had locked himself in place. Jresh was only able to process the attack for a moment, before a sudden surge of electricity transferred from Lorrik's hand to his mouth. It wasn't long before arcs of Force lightning sparked across the warrior's entire body.

Yet Jresh remained standing, enduring the debilitating attack. Lorrik renewed his attacked pumping his partner full of more crackling energy. Eventually the inquisitor stopped and the warrior remained standing rigid, a small stream of smoke emitting from his mouth and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Lorrik removed his hand from his companion's face and raised it into the air in victory. This managed to offset the duo's balance enough that the two fell backward, impacting against the ground with the entirety of Jresh landing on top of Lorrik.

On the sidelines, the entirety of the gathered acolytes looked onward speechlessly. Even Syrosk could not think of the words he might deliver in his usual sardonically raspy manner. The seven onlookers watched intently, waiting for either person to move. Several seconds passed. Silence. Nothing but the flowing winds gently passing dust over the two fallen acolytes on the top of the Korriban cliff.

"Alright," Syrosk finally spoke up. "Someone go check on them."


	24. 1-23 Pains

**Chapter Twenty Three: Pains**

Jresh and Lorrik opened their eyes to find themselves on the flat of their backs, gazing up toward the Korriban sun with seven shadowed faces staring back down upon them. The acolytes' fellow students and master circled the fallen duo and hunched over to closely examine the two once unconscious duelists.

"Good. It would seem you are still amongst the living," Syrosk stated with his usual rasp. "I would have had to punish your spirits had you managed to kill each other. Training is over for the day. You are free to return to your rooms."

As the other students dispersed and began their trek back toward the Academy, the two fallen acolytes had yet to rise from their prone positions. Laying side by side, the pair realized they had been dragged from their relative positions when they lost consciousness. They tried to raise themselves from the dusty foundation but found their bodies unresponsive, paralyzed yet wracked with pain.

"Well… I suppose you'll return when you're ready. Enjoy your time under the sun," Syrosk said before casually vacating the premises. The two remained. Looking up toward the blinding light and searing rays descending upon them from the Korriban sky.

"Jresh… I don't think I can move," Lorrik admitted.

There was an almost silent grunt from the Pureblood beside him. "I hesitate to admit it, but I'm having trouble as well."

"Heh, didn't think you were capable of being exhausted," Lorrik struggled to state. His words tapered off into a slight coughing fit as he tried to chuckle.

"The pain is endurable. I think your lightning may have had a paralyzing effect on my musculature, however," Jresh calmly stated.

Lorrik released a mixture of coughing and laughter. "I don't know I'd have called that lightning. More like a spark."

"You need not overly veil yourself in the shroud of humility. I don't think any of the other acolytes are capable of conjuring such a power," Jresh admitted.

"It's far from a true manifestation of Force lightning," Lorrik replied. "And I still don't exactly have a genuine control over it. When I do use it I end up injuring my own hands, though at the moment it is rather hard to distinguish individual injuries and pains. Of course that's when I can get it to actually work. I tried it use it against Arlia at the end of our first duel, but I couldn't conjure a thing."

"When have you been able to use it?" Jresh asked.

"The first time it ever manifested was when I produced a weak arc between my fingers before I had even entered training under Syrosk," Lorrik admitted as looked toward the sky. "I came into the possession of a Sith Sorcerer's musings in one of the many datacards I would study in my personal time. It detailed the Sith's upbringing and training techniques, detailing the power needed to conjure lightning. It offered techniques to more easily call upon the power, but at that point, I still had to lock myself into an abysmal place inside my own head for hours just to produce the tiniest spark. The first time I used it in a practical situation was when we were moving into the suite, when I was confronted by Ornell. The second time was when I ambushed by Ornell and his friends and received a proper beating. And I guess this was the third."

"There is obviously a connection to your emotional state and your ability to use the power," Jresh explained. "With Ornell, there is an understandable hatred that manifests within you."

"Yeah, but, what about our duel?" Lorrik asked. "I mean, I'm pretty sure I never felt hatred toward you."

"Through passion, I gain strength," Jresh recited. "Hatred is a primal emotion and one fully capable of fueling one's connection to the dark side, but it is not the only passion worth considering. It is possible you channeled your strength through utter devotion toward achieving victory. Instead of drawing upon hatred for your opponent, you drew upon some positivity that rested within yourself."

"Is such a thing even possible?" Lorrik asked, speaking to himself more than his partner.

"You are the expert on the Force," Jresh calmly stated. "Did you not say yourself that you believe the two sides of the Force to be separate, but still capable of being harnessed and utilized alongside one another."

"There's a difference between utilizing powers granted through study of both the light and the dark, and fueling one side with the aspects considered to belong to the realm of the other. If such a thing could even be achieved, I don't think I could ever possess the hubris required to even begin thinking I was capable of achieving such a feat at this point in my training."

"Then perhaps you were driven solely by the prospect of victory over your partner. Wanting nothing more than to defeat me. Show your superiority. Harness the inherent selfishness of domination."

"Yeah, that does sound pretty Sith when you think about it," Lorrik admitted. "So, were you impressed with my capabilities?"

The Pureblood paused before giving his answer. "I won't lie. For a moment, I thought that my initial charge might incapacitate you."

"Ouch, I'm hurt," Lorrik joked before succumbing to a brief fit of pain. "Okay, poor choice of words. I actually am hurting pretty badly right now."

"You carried yourself well, Lorrik. Your stylings are admittedly not suited for straightforward saber combat, but you were able to defend yourself against my attacks and supply your own until we reached a standstill."

"Technically, neither of us were standing in the end."

"Well, I was, before I fell on you."

"We're you even conscious for that?"

"I honestly can't say I was fully cognizant of what events were occurring around the end of our duel. But, prior to that haze, your action clearly displayed that you've made a great deal of progress in your training. I'm proud of you, Lorrik."

"You have no idea how much it means for me to hear you say that. To hear anyone say that," Lorrik replied, a genuine appreciation in his voice. "This Academy… it's draining. So much conflict. So much strife. So little to show for it. Any beneficial consequences lie years ahead of us. For now, it's just trial after trial pushing us to the threshold of death. No praise. No trust. No belief. I am not… a negative person. At least, I've never thought of myself as such. But this Academy… has tried its hardest to push me to the edge. To shove my failures down my throat and stab me in the back with my own intentions. I cannot honestly say what I would have done if I was forced to endure more time spent in the classrooms, with no master, no goals, no ambitions. You've given me your satisfaction, so I'll give you my thanks, even though you deserve so much more. You've remained strong. You've provided support to me, and my outlandish ways, and my ridiculous ambitions. I know that you were forced to find a partner if you wanted to train under Syrosk. You could have rejected my pleas that first day we met. But you didn't. I know there's a chance that all this is just a circulation of selfish intentions, drawing upon each other's strength so long as it plays to our advantage and unwilling to continue the second it ceases to do so. But I believe there's something special about us. Something lasting. Something worth cultivating. Preserving. I'll never be able to know if you feel the same way, but honestly, you don't need to. You've more than earned my respect. You've more than earned my assistance. You've more than earned something beyond the miserable grasp of this abysmal Academy."

Lorrik saw a shadowy figure beginning to hover over him. Slowly, the figure extended his hand downward, offering it to the fallen acolyte. Jresh had finally regained control of his body and was ready to make his way back to the Academy. Accepting his hand, Lorrik lifted himself off the ground, defying the protests of pain that still resonated throughout his body. Jresh's countenance no longer obscured by the sun's shadow, Lorrik saw a most peculiar sight. A smile gracing the Pureblood's lips. It was something unique. Something the acolyte had not seen before in his partner. Before, Jresh would only ever appear on the precipice of showing such an emotional gesture. An intrigued curl of the lips, an errant smirk, but never a smile. But now, seemingly in defiance, the warrior offered such an expression. Genuine is its presentation. Full in its devotion. Subtle in its demonstration. A sign of understanding. Of respect. Of something unprecedented.

Jresh offered his partner a nod of his head as he turned toward the pathway leading back to the Academy. Stepping lightly, the warrior had yet to fully regain uncompromised movement, but was none the less capable of pushing himself forward. Lorrik on the other hand, managed to only take a single step forward before he was forced to crumble to his knee. Folding in on himself, the inquisitor could barely even support his cascading mass by placing his hands against the ground. His arms began to shake as he struggled to remain somewhat upright. The Pureblood saw his companion's plight, and lent his assistance once more, bypassing an offer at that point. The warrior knelt in front of the inquisitor, imploring him to throw his weight upon his back. Lorrik was hesitant to burden his partner, but the Pureblood would hear no objections. He forced Lorrik's arms over his shoulders and began carrying him back to their suite.

"Jresh… this isn't necessary," Lorrik softly muttered into the ear of his marching companion.

"Quiet," Jresh curtly replied. "Rest now, and you'll be able to more adequately heal our wounds once we've returned to our room."

"Heh, selfishly selfless as always…"


	25. 1-24 Hours

**Chapter Twenty Four: Hours**

All who bothered to turn their gaze from their typical focal points were graced with a most peculiar site moving about the halls of the Sith Academy. Two acolytes, battered and bruised, slowly trudging toward their room. Well, one trudged, the other rested upon the trudger's back. Conversations were lulled and heads were turned as eyes fell upon the unusual pair slowly making their way through the halls and up the stairs, sluggishly eager to return to their suite.

Past the main halls of the Academy, the duo was able to continue their trek in relative peace, free from the discerning eyes of their peers. At the precipice of reaching their home, Lorrik offered to continue of his own accord, lowering himself from his partner's back. Just in time for the duo to see Arlia leaning against the wall adjacent their suite. She was obviously waiting for something, someone, and Lorrik believed it wasn't her own partner. Jresh subtly looked to his companion, who casually directed him to head inside whilst he chatted with the other acolyte.

The warrior entered the apartment with little more than an errant glance toward the stationary rival. A moment later, the door shut, giving the two inquisitors relative peace in the hallway between the various residences. Removing herself from the wall, Arlia approached Lorrik, any intention in her eyes sufficiently veiled.

"Can I help you, Arlia?" Lorrik casually asked as he tried his hardest to keep his body's frame sufficiently rigid and upright, eventually settling upon leaning his shoulder against the wall in as awkward a 'casual' stance as his beaten body could muster.

"Cut the pleasantries, Lorrik," Arlia directly directed.

"You know I'm physically incapable of doing that, you know," Lorrik stammered, his current physicality actually having an effect on his pleasantries.

"I want to know more about what you did during your duel with Jresh," Arlia explained.

"Which part? The injuries? The falling down a lot? Let me guess… you want to know about the lightning," Lorrik said, lifting a single hand, imitating a clawed motion with it. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know how exactly it is that acolyte like you managed to conjure such a thing. We both know what's required to use that power. Something you should be utterly lacking. It is not to be harnessed by the weak, the cowardly, or the… pleasant."

"Well then, I guess I'm not weak, cowardly, or… pleasant, in the heat of combat."

"How long have you possessed this power? Why didn't you use it against me in our duel?" Arlia curtly asked.

"Oh, not long, by Academy standards. But to explain our duel, believe me, I tried. But at the time, I guess you could consider me somewhat… plagued by things like self-doubt. My emotional state wasn't exactly conductive to such conjurations. Needless to say, that is no longer a problem."

The Twi'lek offered the arch of her brow. "Where did this arrogance come from all of a sudden?"

"Not arrogance. Confidence. And it comes from belief. Actualization. Have you any long-term plans? Any ideas for the future? Anyone to share them with?"

"Sith who don't focus on the present and what's real tend to end up missing the knives being sunk into their backs," Arlia explained. "What's the point of asking me anyway?"

"I figured your curiosity ultimately stemmed from the fact that you desired this power for yourself. I thought I'd go ahead and help you along your way toward achieving such."

"You mean… you're actually helping me?" Arlia asked, baffled. "How hard did Jresh hit you in the head to make you think this is a proper course of action?"

"How do you mean?" Lorrik asked, seeming utterly oblivious.

"You're weird, but not dumb enough to actually believe that it is a good idea to teach someone who actively desires your downfall an ultimately lethal technique," Arlia stated, a confused twitch in her eye.

"You just don't understand our process. Our purpose. One can only receive so much challenge from within, from one's peers, from one's environment, if everything remains stagnant. Were you and your partner to be leagues ahead of us, I likely would be content for now, battling, dueling, challenging ourselves against you. But whether you realize it or not, the four pairs currently stand upon relatively equal grounds. We can't kill each other, and at this stage there's only so much interaction with Lord Syrosk. Our main source of initiative, inspiration, and progress will ultimately come from one another. Once any of us begin to fall behind, that momentary sense of superiority and satisfaction will be worthless when held up against the continued experience of besting and being beaten by your equals. So yes, I'll happily share a few secrets of the Force. Because I know for a fact that you're the kind of person that can utilize any knowledge that comes her way. That you can make something material from immaterial knowledge. I want you to get stronger. I want the others to get stronger. Because that in turn will make us stronger. Power without waste. Pride without disability. Progress without abandonment. Cooperative antagonism. So I'll ask you, and I want you to think about your answer. I have a datacard that can be inserted into any standard reader, containing the writings from which I drew upon a portion of my knowledge. Would you care to borrow it?"

Arlia remained silent as she sharpened her gaze, furrowing her brow as she studied the curious inquisitor.

* * *

Lorrik entered the suite to find Jresh meditating on the living room mat, his eyes closed, his knees bent, and his countenance practically peaceful. Passing close by, the inquisitor made his way to the footlocker that sat adjacent his desk.

"What did Arlia want?" Jresh calmly asked, not breaking his trance.

"A word. Needless to say, I happily gave her one," Lorrik answered.

"Intent on giving her anything else?"

The Human rummaged through the container's contents, before returning with a single datacard in his hand. "She's interested in learning more about Force lightning. I thought I'd give her a study tool."

"Remember when I said not to let someone take those things away from you?"

"This isn't taking, it's giving," Lorrik explained.

"Understandable," Jresh calmly stated. "You'll receive no further inquiries from me."

Leaning out of the threshold of the apartment, Lorrik offered the waiting Twi'lek a small handheld datacard. The other acolyte hesitantly accepted, still unable to properly process the Human's actions.

"Give it a good looking over, and return it at your leisure," Lorrik warmly said.

"I still don't readily believe that this isn't an elaborate ruse," Arlia muttered, almost angry at her fellow inquisitor's kindness.

"That's good. I'd hate for you start trusting me more than your own partner. Bye!" With that, the Human retreated into his home, leaving the Twi'lek on the opposite side of the door. Stepping toward his meditative partner, the inquisitor cracked a smile. "Funny, it's gotten to the point that I can write off my niceness as 'mind games'."

"Well, it's good to see you're no longer succumbing to fits of pain and exhaustion," Jresh calmly stated, still in a state of meditation.

"Positivity helps. Speaking of which, I could try my hand at healing some of your wounds if you'd like."

"You could tend to yourself first, if you'd like," Jresh replied. "I'm content to meditate whilst you recover from your own injuries."

"Nah, I want to see if I'm capable of acting under duress, examine how my emotional and physical state impact my ability to use Force healing," Lorrik explained.

"I see," Jresh stated, more than content with his partner's reasoning. "Have you ever actually tried to use this power on another being."

"Nope."

"I see," Jresh repeated, less content.

"We can stop whenever you start to feel uncomfortable. Now, if you'll take of your robe, we can begin," Lorrik warmly stated. Finally breaking from his meditative stance the Pureblood opened his eyes to lay them upon his companion. "The only way I know of this power to work is through physical contact."

"Understandable. Tell me more about the technique," Jresh asked of his companion as he stripped off the outer layer of his robes. The jacket possessed numerous rips and tears at the various joints and seams, as well as a sizable scorch mark where Lorrik had gotten in a direct hit with his saber.

"Basically, with the Force comes a connections to life, through which comes to ability to alter or manipulate it," Lorrik explained. "Force-users are capable of bolstering, enhancing, or expediting the natural healing process that occurs within our bodies. Force healing takes that to the next level."

"Is it a power of the light, or the dark side?" Jresh patiently asked, removing his gauntlets and placing them atop the heaped cloak upon the floor, moving on toward unwrapping his under-shirt.

"Neither. Both. It can actually go both ways," Lorrik stated. "Through the light, one is able to naturally enhance these abilities. Through the dark, one must draw upon powerful emotion, or siphon vitality from another source. If you wanted to heal yourself, you could meditate, drawing upon inner peace, or you could channel your rage, drawing upon a sort of dark sustenance. Peaceful method takes focus and time. Rage method brings remarkable results, but involves combating the consuming effect that prolonged exposure to dark side energies can have on organic material. Welcome the dark side into your body and it will eventually succumb to decay. However, whomever can master the dark side could theoretically outlast or overcome the deterioration, though sometimes at the cost of mere vanity."

"And what of siphoning?" Jresh asked.

"With sufficient control of the Force comes the ability to not only manipulate your own life, but that of others," Lorrik explained. "With a bit of focus I can heal your wounds as I would mine. With siphoning, however, I could steal you energy and vitality to restore my own."

"Could the opposite be accomplished?" Jresh asked as he kneeled on the meditation mat.

"You mean giving up power for someone else's benefit? Theoretically, yes," Lorrik answered with a pondering glance toward his curious companion. The Pureblood had removed his shirt, revealing his battered torso. Cuts and bruises graced the warrior's musculature, the grandest of the wounds covering much of his side, stretching up from his hip. Removing what remained of his gloves, Lorrik knelt behind his companion, about begin the healing process. Placing a bare hand upon Jresh's shoulder, intent on testing his abilities on a minor scrape that graced his partner's flesh, the Pureblood flinched at the first contact.

"I'm sorry, guess I should have warned you before, y'know, touching a wound," Lorrik softly stated.

"I've moved beyond the stage of pain, it's just… I'm not exactly used to physical contact," Jresh admitted.

"Makes sense. I mean, when was the last time you touched someone that didn't involve a saber, fist, or heavy layer of fabric laying in between. We've carried each other upon our backs. We've shaken hands, I guess. But the Academy isn't much for interpersonal exchanges. And intimacies are a short and narrow road to betrayal and murder in your sleep."

"The last personal contact I had was likely before I ever stepped foot in this Academy," Jresh plainly stated.

"That'd be an interesting topic of discussion," Lorrik said with a grin. "Familial ties before being shipped off to the Academy."

There was a pause as the air was heavy with silence.

"Another time, maybe. For now, I'd rather you focus on your technique. I'd rather not have my flesh out of place when we're done."

"You got it," Lorrik warmly stated, closing his eyes and focusing his energies on his companion's wounds. A soft luminance emanated from his palms as he pressed them against the Pureblood's crimson skin. Drifting into a meditative state, seconds flowed into minutes. Minutes into hours. Passing from wound to wound, Lorrik graced each aberrant spot on the warrior's physique with the healing radiance that would transfer from his hand to his companion's torso. By no means a hasty process, the two remained dedicated to their craft, continuing to recover in silence.

* * *

_So yeah, I guess you could say today had a profound impact on our group dynamic. That duel was an effective field test of our martial capabilities. It also detailed how far we were willing to go. How dedicated we were to continuing our training. Holding up our ideals. I think we both performed amicably, despite the wounds sustained from an all-out test of might between a warrior and inquisitor. And I think we more than reinforced our commitment to our beliefs._

_Jresh continues to surprise me. He possesses a genuine curiosity in matters of the arcane. I've always thought fully grasping the nature of the Force and its capabilities somewhat beyond the notice of the warrior sect. Whilst I'll not know for some time how much he actually understands and how much he "understands", the fact that he'll so candidly ask of my opinions, my knowledge, is quick heartening._

_The inter-group dynamics seem to be shifting as well. Gave Arlia one of my data cards. Careful study of it and she could harness the power of Force lightning. I have no doubt she's capable of it. She's got the source that the doctrines traditionally call upon. The emotion. The drive. Seeing what she does with it will prove intriguing. Will she share it with Isorr? Will she reveal the results of her studies as soon as possible, or keep it hidden up her sleeve. There were no overt signs of rejection when I told her of my philosophies, makes me wonder if my words will have more than a passing impact on her actions and beliefs. Observing our rivals over the coming months will proves as enlightening as whatever teachings Syrosk might impart upon us. I wonder if this is what it's like for him, planting an item, an idea, a thought, and just watching what becomes of it. If this is what it's like for him, I'm starting to understand why he goes through it all._

_Just like I'm starting to understand why Kar'ai and Ryloh would want to foster the connection they seem to be developing._


	26. 1-25 Realizations

**Chapter Twenty Five: Realizations**

Time passed. Where once the students would be concerned in regards to each passing hour, days began to slip past their discerning grasp. Training continued. With each new day brought new trials for the acolytes of Lord Syrosk to complete. And with each new trial brought strengthened bodies, hardened minds, and heightened capabilities. Day after day. Week after week. The students knew they were being driven toward something. Something great.

The relationships between the various duos shifted as time progressed. Gone were the distractions of insecurity and fear. Each acolyte had become sufficiently confident in the capabilities of themselves and their partner such that they could appropriately set their sights on the prospect of victory. Each student had begun to respect one another. Strength recognized strength. Knowledge recognized knowledge. One by one the students realized that there was insight to partake in by observing their fellows, if not directly then at least indirectly.

Arlia studied the borrowed tome of Lorrik and eventually saw it returned to its rightful owner, after a sufficient period of time, during which it somehow managed to make the rounds to the other pairs first. Ryloh and Kar'ai had become more connected than ever, supporting one another in their bid for partnered superiority. Nesk and Vurt had managed to channel their opposing temperaments toward a common purpose, combating one another to better themselves without selfish reservations. Bleeding through the walls of the students' accommodations was the tumultuous sounds of practiced brawling and determined melees. Isorr slowly realized that the others were progressing at a steady rate and dedicated himself to his studies, no longer relying on the perceived innate superiority of his Sith tenets and ideology.

It had been more than half a year since the acolytes had first begun their training under Lord Syrosk and they had yet to fully understand the motives of their enigmatic master, but none could argue with the results. As much freedom as they thought they had away from the training grounds, all could sense the continuing influence of the Sith Lord. An ethereal hand guiding them. An all-seeing eye gazing upon them in their free time. But none could prove it. There was a chance all of it was a fluke. That their progression was simply because of their inherent talents. That Lord Syrosk was an extraneous cog in the machine's ever so intricate workings. The students knew better, however. Time had passed, but not enough for them to have forgotten their lives before their new master. Years and years of the harsh realities of the Academy under instructor rule were not readily eroded with the passing of the Korriban winds. Whether it was their master, their partner, or the unique assemblage of the eight students, each acolyte was sure that there was some force beyond mere coincidence to blame for their rapidly advancing studies.

Soon, the acolytes found themselves skilled combatants in the way of the saber. Lord Syrosk had taken to private lessons, teaching each of the students the intricacies of the lightsaber forms, shaping and developing a fighting style suited to their unique talents and capabilities. The acolytes found themselves more attuned to the Force, capable of not only projecting but defending against a number of powerful energies. Lifting pebbles turned to lifting stones. Lifting stones turned to lifting boulders. With each new test, each student found a new exhaustion point to be reached. Each pair would push themselves to the brink of collapse and rest up for the next trial placed in front of them. Lorrik and Jresh retained their advantage with recovering because of the inquisitor's unique healing capabilities, but it wasn't long before the others each found their own power to draw upon. When the day came for the inquisitors to conjure lightning, they would succeed, or be beaten until their hatred overflowed into manifestation. Four inquisitors were tested. Four inquisitors succeeded.

Each acolyte now held something firmly in their minds. In their hearts. They had finally received the confirmation they so deeply desired. It didn't come when they discovered they were Force-sensitive. It didn't come when they were inducted into the Academy. It didn't come when they endured hours upon hours of lecture on codes and doctrines and tenets and expectations and rituals. It came when each student looked not outward for confirmation, but inward. There, upon gazing into abyssal meadow of potential, each had realized.

They are Sith.


	27. 2-01 Visions

**Part II : Advances**

**Chapter One: Visions**

Darkness surrounds. Penetrates.

A low fog eternally gripped the cold stones upon which the inquisitor treads. With each step, the Human disturbed yet another patch of dust that had laid undisturbed for so long on the tomb's floor. The deep architecture of stones planted and placed years and years ago at the whim of a Sith Lord basked in the azure glow of the lightsaber held loftily in the seeker's hand. Relative silence, only the soft hum of the weapon resonating throughout the enclosed space, accompanied by the soft steps of the intruding inquisitor. Then, a crash.

The once soft blue glow immediately turned red, flashing its angry crimson down each direction of the hall. The Human tensed, darting his gaze toward his goal and back toward whence he came. The two directions seemed indistinguishable, only a long corridor leading to utter uncertainty and blackness. No signs of the source of the audible instigation. As the inquisitor turned back toward his destination, the once calm darkness had been disrupted. For now, piercing the red glow offered by his saber, two red eyes awaited in the darkness beyond, aglow with intensity.

The Human froze. Unsure. Frightened. Then the owner of the vile eyes approached. Stepping from the darkness, a monstrous figure. A man. A beast. Towering over the inquisitor, the creature of darkness was sculpted with ability, fraught with power. The humanoid took one step after another, the sharp clatter of its talon toed feet resonating throughout the hall. It was a figure of bulk. Of spines. Of red. An image of blood and bone given form, the towering creature bore a hide of crimsons, from which a number of bony spurs sprouted from its appendages.

Raising his saber, the inquisitor thought to kill, but the beast's intent was greater. Taking hold of the Human's wrist, the beast was able to force the intruder to let loose his weapon with ease. Subdued, the inquisitor could do nothing as the creature took hold of his neck and raised him into the air. What followed was not mere pain, but a drainage of all things worth holding. Hope. Determination. Belief.

Then, a snap.

* * *

Lorrik stirred in his bed, raising himself from his tumultuous slumber. Sitting up, he immediately shook his head, body coated with sweat, mind reeling. Sweeping his legs out from the bed, the inquisitor walked amongst the darkness of his room, eventually settling upon his destination of the bathroom. He winced as he flicked on the lights, catching his reflection in the mirror only through a tempered squint. With a dip of his head, Lorrik began to run his hands under the sink, soaking his face and running his hands through his hair. Shutting off the faucet, he was greeted with silence, forcing him to acknowledged his heavy and rapid breaths. Rubbing his eyes, Lorrik let out one final sigh before resigning himself back to his bed.

* * *

Morning. Jresh and Lorrik sat at their respective tables, a plate bearing a hearty breakfast in front of them both. As Jresh contentedly partook in his meal, Lorrik sat stilled, offering his food only a cold stare instead of an intruding utensil.

"Hey, Jresh," Lorrik spoke, almost at a whisper.

"Yes, Lorrik?" Jresh replied, taking a brief pause in his eating.

"Do you think we're at the point in our training when we should be having visions?" Lorrik abashedly asked.

"Visions?"

"You know… premonitions, foresights, things of that nature," Lorrik explained.

"Well, warriors aren't known to be the most divining. Your connection to the Force on the other hand… why do you ask?" Jresh asked.

"I'm having trouble deciding if something was a vision or just a nightmare," Lorrik admitted.

"What exactly did you see?" Jresh asked, obviously invested in his partner's predicament.

"It wasn't exactly bustling with details. I was alone. In a tomb, probably here on Korriban. Walking down an endless hallway. When all of a sudden, a creature appears," Lorrik stated, deadpan in his explanation.

"A creature?"

"Well, it was humanoid. To be honest, it looked a cross between you and a tuk'ata," Lorrik explained. "Big. Red. Angry."

"Rather blunt of you," Jresh stated, showing a bit of surprise.

"I don't know how to describe it. Sith, but not Sith. Beastly… Corrupted…"

"And such a being concerns you?"

"When it's snapping my neck, yes," Lorrik muttered.

The Pureblood gently stroked the tendril hanging from his cheek. "I take it death does not play a usual part in your dreams?"

"Pretty much. With all the chaotic events that occur in the Academy, my dreams are a place of relative boredom. I mean, sometimes the Academy and other students play a part in there, but mostly it's just inanity."

"What makes you think this last one could be more than a nightmare?" Jresh asked.

"Well, I like to think I've trained my mind, attained relative control over it. Last night was concernedly out of the ordinary. Plus… I don't know. I just felt something about it. Like, actually FELT it. And I…" Lorrik began to trail off.

"Lorrik," Jresh spoke, trying to catch his companion's attention.

"Look. We've been together what? Six months or so? It's really hard for me admit that something, anything, frightened me. Which isn't to say I was frightened. Stirred would be a better word. Yes, stirred. You know me, always got food on the mind. Hah," Lorrik rambled, obviously in some sort of mental distress.

"I'm not one to needlessly give you orders, but you need to calm yourself," Jresh emphatically stated.

"You're right. Can't let these like this scare me if I want to be a proper Sith," Lorrik admitted.

"Absolutely not," Jresh replied.

Lorrik offered the soft arch of his brow. "Pardon?"

"While we are taught to shed our fears at first opportunity, far too many Sith are overzealous in this venture. Soon they find themselves not only casting away their fear, but their caution, their logic," Jresh explained. "We are not all-powerful. We are not immortal. We bleed. We tire. We inevitably recover, but only so long as we can keep a firm eye upon our limitations. With time, we may come to break past these limits, for that is the nature of a Sith, but we must always remember than until then, there are many forces in this galaxy that would work against us. That would see us dead. If it was simply a disturbing machination of your mind as you slept, then draw upon it. It obviously affected you. Brought emotions to the surface unfamiliar and frightening. Use them to your benefit rather than trying to sweep them under a metaphorical rug. And if it was indeed a vision… then prepare. Arm yourself with power and knowledge so that you not meet the same fate. Remember that you are never truly alone. Within your hands you are capable of wielding weapons both martial and arcane. And if they are not enough, I will gladly lend my own."

"Unless the vision was some manifestation of you," Lorrik muttered.

"Then prepare none the less," Jresh bluntly stated.

"I don't enjoy the thought of actively working against you," Lorrik admitted.

"And I don't enjoy the thought of you being powerless against any foe, even if it is myself," Jresh replied. "The Force is mysterious, the dark side even more so. If we are ever forced to meet in combat, I cannot guarantee that I'll be the person you expect. You know me, you know my methods, you know that as it stands I would never voluntarily end your life. But the Academy has ways of changing us. For better or worse. Always remember that."

"So you'd have no problem with me coming up with ways to strike you down?" Lorrik asked.

"I'd encourage you to do so," Jresh admitted. "We both deserve something greater than what this Academy has to offer. I'd rather not see either of our journeys cut short because of some manipulative force that might drive us against one another. It does not matter how well we fare against the other six students should our final test lie in besting one another. I'm no more worthy of apprenticeship than you until I am forced to prove it."

"So have you thought of how you might kill me if need be?"

"If need be," Jresh plainly answered.

"Enlightening."

"You can belief with confidence that I would still consider you a friend, even long after your death," Jresh stated. "And remember, only if need be. I would never needless end the life of a rival, let alone an ally. Precautions do need to be taken in the event of some sort of Force-induced madness or betrayal."

"So… how would you do it?" Lorrik curiously asked, unfazed by the warrior's declaration in any negative fashion.

"It certainly wouldn't involve snapping your neck," Jresh confessed as he took a hefty bite of the eggs on his plate.

"Good to know. I suppose I'd have to try and tire you out. To be honest, I'd feel bad manipulating you before a fight. Like, telling you I'm healing a wound when instead I'm implanting corrupting energies into your body. I suppose in the heat of battle however, I'd have no qualms altering your perceptions to my advantage though," Lorrik cheerfully explained.

"Good to know," Jresh said, stoically tending to his meal. Letting out a muffled chuckle, Lorrik took a bite of his own food, bobbing his head as he simultaneous chewed and stirred the thoughts within his head.

"What do you think Jedi do when they wake up each morning?" Lorrik asked.

"Can't say that I know," Jresh admitted.

"They certainly don't talk about how they might end up killing each other. And if they did, they certainly don't do it with the same pleasant disclosure we do. Then again, I don't even think the other Sith converse as we do."

"A Sith does not usually part so readily with their secrets," Jresh stated.

"What's different for us?" Lorrik asked.

"Well, I assume others believe that so long as something remains a secret, it cannot affect them. Something I disagree with. With secrets, yes, others are restricted from acting upon them, but then you giving control over to a piece of information. You no longer control the information, the information controls you."

"Everything gets out eventually. Might as well prepare for it instead of hoping it remains a secret."

"Exactly."

* * *

Darkness surrounds. Penetrates.

From within his chambers, Lord Syrosk knelt in the center of an encircling room. His senses deprived, the Sith Lord was left only with his thoughts, his meditations. Eyes closed, Syrosk sat out of his usual garb of battle-worn armor, in its place a set a black robes. Around his neck dangled a jeweled amulet, a dark yellow stone enwrapped with silver. The Sith Lord held it softly within the grasp of his leathery hands. Lost within his own thoughts, Syrosk sat, eternally still, unburdened by any internal or external force. Then, with realization, he opened his eyes.

"It is time."


	28. 2-02 Farewells

**Chapter Two: Farewells**

The eight students found themselves atop their usual training peak. After so many weeks and months of trials, it had become their second home. Their sweat, their blood, it had be shed and absorbed by the wanting dirt. Still early in the morning, their master had called for their arrival far sooner than the usual midday excursions. Facing out toward the vast expanse of Korriban that the ridge overlooked, Lord Syrosk cast his narrowed gaze over the empty wastes of caverns and rocks that populated the area beyond the Academy.

"Students. The time has come… for me to decide whom to take on as an apprentice," Syrosk stated in his usual drawn-out, raspy tenor. Immediately the eight acolytes tensed up. "Rather, I should say that one final test awaits you. All who survive will become my apprentices. From that point forward, your place under me will be formalized, and your position as nothing more than a mere student of the Academy will henceforth be terminated. With that, comes privilege. To deeper understanding. To greater insight. To more potent ways of drawing out your potential. In the end, all eight of you might achieve the honor. In the end, all eight of you might fail. And for this particular trial, failure means death. Rather, death means failure. Survival is the goal. Therefore, your fate lies in your hands and your hands alone. Do you all understand?"

Immediately the eight acolytes nodded their heads.

"Good. For your trial, all eight of you will be loaded onto a transport and deposited a sizable distance away from the Academy. You are tasked with returning alive. You will have to contend with the Korriban landscape, its fauna, and most importantly, each other. Once you are off of the shuttle, you are longer bound by my code to tolerate one another. You are each well within your right to end the lives of your fellow acolytes should you see fit to do so. Your journey back will likely require several days' travel on foot. You are permitted only to take with you what you can hold within the pockets and folds of your robes. You will each be given one canister of potable water. It is unlikely that a single container can sustain a single acolyte for the duration of your trek back. You will have only your allotment of water, your modicum of prepared supplies, your training saber, and your wits to ensure your continued survival. Do you all understand?" Once more the Sith Lord was greeted with the immediate nods of his eight students. "Good. You all have an hour to prepare. Then report to the shuttle pad. If you are not present when we leave, you most certainly do not want to be at this Academy when I return. Dismissed."

With nary a bow of their heads, the acolytes turned and made their way down the path back toward their accommodations. With little time to prepare, and little knowledge of what they were getting into, each acolyte intended to get the most out of their remaining hour within the Academy.

"It would seem we've formally been let off the leash…" Lorrik muttered to his nearby companion.

"Indeed," Jresh stoically replied.

"What of the others? Think they'll try anything?"

"I have no doubt in my mind. Like always, prepare."

"And to think, we were all beginning to bond over these past few months," Lorrik lightheartedly joked.

Jresh maintained his stoic countenance. "The Academy is a place of luxury compared to the wilderness. They will do what is required to get by. As will we."

"Oh? What are you two muttering about over there?" Arlia called out. "Isn't this the usual time for mixed pleasantries, heartfelt boasts, poignant barbs of the tongue?"

"We're secretly plotting over here," Lorrik sarcastically replied.

The Twi'lek offered a warm, if disingenuous chuckle. "The coming days are certainly going to be interesting, aren't they?"

"The coming days? You mean you don't plan to kill me in the coming hours?" Lorrik asked.

"I personally don't," Arlia plainly admitted. "Have to keep my energy up. The others however…"

"Yes, yes, I know all about you Sith and your intrinsic murderous intent. Especially you… Ryloh," Lorrik called out, shooting a sharp, exaggerated glare toward the bewildered Twi'lek.

"Wait… what?" Ryloh confusingly muttered.

"We mustn't allow ourselves to be distracted," Kar'ai said as she placed a hand on her companion's shoulder. "There's much to prepare for."

The students made their way back to the Academy in their usual disheveled gathering. Lorrik shot one last glance back toward the peak to see Syrosk still facing out to the surrounding landscape.

* * *

Lorrik and Jresh had successfully made it back to their room in record time, as had the other acolytes. The two students gazed upon the entry room of their suite, overwhelmed with their immediate task. They could only bring what they could carry. They could only bring what would prove absolutely needed for the trial. Unfortunately, neither of them knew much about wilderness survival. They had spent enough time defending themselves against other students that they had forgotten anything beyond the Academy boundaries even existed.

An entire planet stretched around it, possessing Imperial dwellings and ancient Sith tombs, but only in a centralized area. Anything beyond that was subject to the whims of any of the Sith Lords throughout history who felt the need to carve their mark into the landscape. An isolated sepulcher here and there, but most of Korriban was unremarkable. But that did not mean it wasn't filled with treacherous caverns and an ever expanding assortment of vile creatures and beasts. The two acolytes would have to overcomes such hazards. The only question was, how exactly would they do so?

"Any ideas on where we should start?" Lorrik asked of his partner.

"Primary concerns would be food and water. Syrosk is providing us our water, which leaves…"

"Food. Right. I think we still have some dehydrated meat. Preserved and easy to carry, but might wreak havoc on our thirst. Then again, it might not. I'm not a survivalist."

"What would you need to prepare food in the field?" Jresh asked.

"Let's see… fire. Don't exactly want to zap anything we might eat with the Force. Might ensure health hazards, as well as physically drain me."

"Handheld lighter?"

"I think we might have a hand torch in one of the cabinets," Lorrik admitted. "See if you can find any spare energy cells. We don't need our training sabers losing their juice in the middle of nowhere."

"Good call. How extensive is your datacard collection? Anything on native animals?" Jresh asked as he made his way toward the bedrooms.

"There might be something like that," Lorrik said as he peered into a cabinet in the suite's kitchen area. "I seem to recall a pretty in-depth piece on alchemy and poisonous creatures. Could extrapolate some details from that. The ones that have served my cooking could provide some succinct details as well."

"Would you be comfortable bringing them along?"

"Absolutely," Lorrik admitted as he reached into the cabinet and retrieved a hand-sized metallic cylinder. "Found the hand torch." Twisting the base of the device, the other tip began to emit a sharp, contained flame, providing a portable source of light and heat. "Do you think we can adequately prepare for this trial?"

"We can try. But I'm sure our greatest challenge will come from our fellow students," Jresh stated.

"I don't know. I think they could be our greatest enemies, but they could also prove to be valuable allies," Lorrik explained.

"You think yourself capable of manipulating them beyond the boundaries of the Academy?" Jresh asked.

"I wouldn't consider it 'manipulating'," Lorrik replied. "We've all come a long way. I'm more than confident we can set aside our differences to ensure our survival."

Jresh paused his movements, crossing his arms as he stared toward his partner. "Assuming 'our' survival is something they want to ensure."

"The master said the number of successes doesn't matter. Anyone who returns will become a true apprentice," Lorrik stated.

"Sith are selfish. I doubt any of them believe they'll receive the best available training should they be forced to share the spot with the other pairs. Some of them won't even want to share it with their partner."

"You're right. Lord Syrosk didn't even touch on the idea of our pairs in his briefing. Well, no matter what the other students connive, we'll stay strong, right?"

"Right."

The two continued their privileged scavenging, darting across the suite to check every errant cupboard and recess, seeing if any hidden gems awaited that could serve them in their trial. As the minutes passed, the time eventually came for them to meet their master at the shuttle pad.

* * *

The hour was almost up, and seven of the eight student stood by their master in front of a docked Imperial shuttle. Lorrik was missing. As the acolytes waited, all eyes were set upon the path that led to them from the Academy, wondering if the Human would even show up.

"Jresh, any idea where you partner is?" Isorr coldly asked.

"He's coming. He said he just had to take care of a few things," Jresh answered.

Arlia offered a brief shrug of her shoulders. "To be fair, I don't exactly think it would be to your detriment should he be left behind."

Jresh was undeterred. His arms folded in front of him, the Pureblood casually leaned against the raised platform on which laid their mode of transportation. Syrosk stood, displaying no signs of adverse temperament or impatience, simply waiting for the hour to pass. Then, on the horizon, Lorrik appeared.

Walking with a tempered haste, the inquisitor showed little signs of worry about missing the flight. As he drew ever closer, variations in his usual appearance became more apparent. Within the other students' discerning gaze, the Human appeared somewhat disheveled, his robes unaligned and loose. Stopping in front of the group, Lorrik offered his own explanation.

"Sorry, realized that if we're going on a trip, I wanted a fresh set of robes. Then I remembered how intricate they could be. Time got away from me and…" Lorrik trailed off, seeing only an array of uncaring fazes before him. "Never mind. I'm ready to go."

"Good to see you all could make it. Let us board the shuttle," Syrosk called out as he took the lead of the group.

Entering through a small door in the side of the shuttle, the Sith Lord disappeared into the bowels of the compact vessel and the students promptly followed. An array of chairs were built into either side of the passenger bay, upon which the acolytes took their seats. The students were so focused on the coming trial, that none of them realized this was the first time they had entered a starship since their initial arrival on the planet. Syrosk walked to the hind end of the passenger bay, where upon a table sat eight cylinders. They stood in height similar to the length between a Human's fist and elbow, and bared a similar circumference.

"Within these containers are your allotment of water. Every other resource you will have to procure in the field," Syrosk explained as he began handing out the cylinders.

Examining his gifted container, Lorrik saw that its cap doubled as a small cup, and a small hook that jut from its side held a thin looped strap. Untwisting the cap, Lorrik put the container's opening to his nose, sniffing the contents for any aberrant chemicals. The cabin shook as the shuttle lifted from its landing pad, almost causing Lorrik to spill his allotment of water. Looking around to see if anyone had noticed, the Human saw more than one set of judging eyes upon him.

The shuttle lifted itself a decent distance into the sky before setting out into the untouched, rocky fields of Korriban.


	29. 2-03 Questions

**Chapter Three: Questions**

Silence plagued the cabin of the Imperial shuttle. Each acolyte sat patiently, doing everything in their power to not intrude upon their neighbors, especially their master, who stood at the hind end of the passenger bay, eyes cold and perpetually staring toward the front of the vessel. Lorrik cautiously darted his gaze toward his fellows from time to time. Studying them. Preparing.

They continued to sit. Minutes passed. Maybe hours. The shuttle's cabin seemed to deprive the acolytes of their senses. The dim lights of the windowless passenger bay strained their eyes. The echo of the whirring engines resonated within their ears, until they noticed little more than the continuing vibrations against their heads. Lorrik looked to his partner who sat beside him, adopting his usual stiffened stance. Arms crossed, head dipped, eyes closed, Jresh showed no signs of discomfort or discontent. The same could not be said for the inquisitor. Uncomfortable. Restless. The Human stirred in his seat, none too content with the silence.

"So… this is it… isn't it?" Lorrik said to no one in particular. All eyes within the passenger bay fell upon the inquisitor. "The beginning of the end… of something anyways."

"Correct," Syrosk replied. "I can assure you all with confidence, you will not be the same acolytes you were this morning… should you return."

"Apprenticeship… or death," Lorrik offered.

"Correct again," Syrosk stoically admitted.

"Wonderful," Lorrik muttered. "So, do you truly have a plan for every possible outcome? I mean, I can't imagine none of us returning being beneficial to whatever it is you're planning."

The alien offered a stern arch of his brow. "Is that so? I take it that means you have an in-depth understanding of my plans?"

"Heh, absolutely not," Lorrik admitted. "To be fair, my prime motivator for getting back is alive is that hopefully the whole mysterious facade thing you've been keen on perpetrating was only for us 'lowly acolytes'."

Syrosk sharpened his gaze toward the wordy inquisitor. "And so long as you remain a 'lowly acolyte' I'd suggest you hold your tongue. I've no qualms about throwing you from this shuttle."

"Hey, that just means I'd land closer to the Academy than where you plan on dropping us off. I'd consider that an advantage," Lorrik explained.

"And what of your partner? Would you leave him by his lonesome in the midst of the other students?" Syrosk sternly asked.

Looking to his partner, Lorrik saw that Jresh remained stalwart in his stance, trying his hardest not to pay attention to the conversation. "I think he'd make it out okay. But then again, I'd rather stand by his side than get manhandled by a Sith Lord."

"Your knack for proper judgment astounds me," Syrosk sardonically stated.

"Hey, I figure there's a good chance I might die out there. May as well say my piece while I have the chance," Lorrik admitted.

"Few Sith readily accept their death as an inevitability," Syrosk plainly stated.

"The good ones do. The ones that don't rarely accomplish anything before they are cut down," Lorrik explained.

"Hmm," Syrosk muttered, neither showing a positive or negative response to Lorrik's words.

"So what made you decide that we were ready to advance?" Lorrik asked.

"Nothing. Then again, it's not me who decides. It you. Well, you and Korriban. I am not supplying the test, merely the parameters," Syrosk explained.

"What'll you be doing whilst we brave the return home?" Lorrik asked. "I don't suppose you set up monitoring equipment in the wastes."

"Nothing of the sort," Syrosk rasped. "A Sith Lord has ways of knowing what transpires within his dominion. But in reality, I need not know how you succeed, merely that you do so. In the meantime, I will be preparing for your further training."

"Assuming any of us return."

"Quite."

Lorrik had nothing further to add. He knew he would gain no more insight into his master or his future plans. Stirring in his seat, the inquisitor shifted his disheveled robes. Looking across the passenger bay, he found that the other students wouldn't dare be caught gazing upon him, turning their gaze as he lifted his head. Lorrik didn't know exactly what he had hoped to accomplish by breaking the silence. Maybe he simply wanted to see what would happen if he challenged Syrosk, though Lorrik knew himself incapable of anything more than the occasional venom from his barbed tongue. For all the time he spent training under the Sith Lord, the inquisitor knew him to be the epitome of inaction, directing with words rather than the back of his hand. And yet, Lorrik still feared him. Syrosk was knowledgeable, but physical manifestations of that knowledge were rarely seen.

Lorrik couldn't challenge Syrosk. Then again, he wasn't sure if he ever would want to. He wasn't a friend, nor an ally, nor a proper mentor. Simply yet another repository of knowledge. One that he had limited access to. One he had doubts regarding its bounty. But still Lorrik sought it. Knowledge. Guidance. Something deep within him knew there was more, and he could never turn away any source of secrets. And Lord Syrosk was definitely a source of secrets. Lorrik wanted answers. The typical answers as well as atypical. He wanted to know what Syrosk wanted with these eight students. Why he would risk losing them all at once. Why he chose warriors who chose inquisitors. Lorrik wanted to know his master's purpose, as well as his own. There was logic in his teachings, in his musings, in his actions. But the inquisitor had yet to crack the code. He couldn't stand not understanding it. Lorrik had easier times deciphering the lost histories of Sith Lords dead and forgotten. He could not leave his tutoring unfinished, nor questions unanswered. Lorrik had to succeed. Had to survive.

Taking a note from his companion, Lorrik tried his hardest to relax. Eventually, the inquisitor was able to match Jresh's meditations, drifting his psyche away from the burdens of his senses, of his mind. The inquisitor became absorbed in nothingness. In darkness. The void. Then a spark. Lorrik opened his eyes as a hand fell upon his shoulder. Looking up, he saw that he hand belonged to Jresh who was now standing in front of him. Turning his head, Lorrik saw that the passenger bay had emptied, and a light shone through the opened hatch.

"We're here, Lorrik," Jresh spoke up. Silently, the Human nodded his head. Raising himself from his seat, Lorrik walked behind his companion as the two joined with the other students outside the shuttle. The inquisitor began to rub his eyes, trying to gauge what had just occurred. He had entered a trance of sorts, time had shrunk to utter insignificance. He didn't know if it had been minutes or hours since his conversation with the Sith Lord.

Stepping off the shuttle, the pair made their way toward the group standing a short distance away, Lorrik trying especially hard not to unintentionally draw the attention of his fellows. Standing side by side in a line in front of their master as they were accustomed to, the acolytes were in a situation none too unfamiliar. However, instead of knowing that the sanctum of the Academy lay only a short trip behind them, they found themselves lost in the vast stretches of dusty plains and barren ridges that made up the unpopulated regions of Korriban.

"Students," Syrosk began. "Look around you. Take it in. You have the pleasure of being persons of significance by relativity. There is nothing around us. Mind that the nothingness doesn't consume you. You have your task. Make it back to the Academy alive, and become a full apprentice. Fail, and you will be forgotten like so many before you. The shuttle will head back to the Academy in a fairly straight line. That will be the last bit of guidance I can offer you as acolytes. Farewell, Kar'ai, Ryloh, Nesk, Vurt, Isorr, Arlia, Jresh, Lorrik. The moment you hear me say your name again, then you may consider yourself my apprentice."

Without another word, Syrosk made his way back onto the shuttle, not offering a single glance to any of the students as he passed them by. Slowly the acolytes turned and watched as the shuttle's hatch closed behind the Sith Lord. Gazing upon the vessel's ascension, they made careful note of its trajectory, as it would be their sole measure of guidance for the time being. As the shuttle slowly faded from the students' sight, they instead turned their attention to one another.

Each acolyte palming the hilt of their training sabers, the dusty air was tense with uncertainty. The line broken, the students has arranged themselves in a motley mob of pairings, each casting a discerning glare toward another. The soft whistles of the Korriban winds passing the landscape were the only sounds that could be heard. No words. No breathing. No heartbeats. No one was sure how to act. They had been given their task. Given their freedom. But none saw fit to waste it. Lorrik, breaking from the stillness, unhooked the saber from his belt. The others immediately tensed, seeing nothing more than the action without regards to manner or intent. Holding the saber in front of him, Lorrik remained for but a moment before setting the weapon softly on the ground in front of him.

"Everyone," Lorrik began, solemn in his tone. "I know that by no right should I be able to ask this of you. But please, before we begin, before we start the scheming, the backstabbing, the murder, I ask for a moment of your time."

The others looked to their partners for insight, but none could offer any. They could watch in silence as the Human knelt in front of his saber, the Pureblood standing beside him, arms ever crossed. In truth, none of them knew how to proceed. None of them knew what they wanted to accomplish this early in the trial. They granted the low inquisitor his audience.

"There is much about this that I do not know," Lorrik admitted. "I do know what has been asked of us. I do know that we do not all get along. I truly believe, however, that it would be in our best interest to work together."

There were intense mumblings between the other groups. What once were visages of uncertainty, began to shift into glares, grimaces, and other opinionated manifestations. But still, no true words came. It was only until Arlia stepped forth that the natural silence was broken.

"Surely, you cannot expect us to go along with that without a proper explanation," Arlia haughtily stated.

"Fair enough," Lorrik replied. "I am asking for cooperation. And not simply for this task, but for future trials as well. I know this is much to ask, but I've noticed a growing deal of peculiarities in regards to us, our training, and our master."

"Like?" Arlia asked.

"Like the fact that I believe that the reason we are out here, has nothing to do with us," Lorrik explained. The other acolytes remained silent, but kept their ears opened. "Do any of you believe there was any discernible point in our training that would prompt Syrosk to take things to the next level? Things have been a steady climb, but he never truly put us in danger. Everything he's done seems to be utterly calculated, but this, this seems like it was hastily arranged. And remember our first day of training? He said how we might become his apprentice in as little as one year. It's been a little over half that. And I doubt we've exceeded his expectations by that much."

"What are you suggesting?" Ryloh asked.

"Some outside force caused this. Or some reaction to an outside force," Lorrik explained. "I think something is driving Syrosk to expedite his teachings. Or maybe he needed us completely out of the way for a significant amount of time."

"But why?" Ryloh added.

"Something forced his to return to the Academy in the first place. Something prompted him to leave the battlefield and take on students. Some idea. Or some person," Lorrik explained.

"And how does this pertain to us?" Arlia asked.

Lorrik passed his gaze over each of his fellow acolytes. "Tell me, has anyone here ever felt like they weren't being controlled? During all your years of the Academy, you must have noticed it. We were being manipulated, driven toward something. Our teachings under the instructors, can you honestly say they fell in line with the Sith Code? Isorr, I know yourself to be an expert traditionalist. You know what I'm talking about."

All eyes turned toward the stern Zabrak.

"I'll admit, I thought the instructors merely incompetent," Isorr stated. "Since they lacked strict oversight, they were capable of straying from the code so long as they produced stronger subjects for Lords seeking apprentices."

"But we were lucky in getting out," Lorrik replied. "What of the others, who will never achieve apprenticeship. For all we know, us finding a master was a complete fluke. Completely out of our control. Syrosk chose us… well, chose the warriors, for a reason. He pulled us from the classrooms, so that we might receive proper training. He freed us from whatever intent the instructors possessed, but now we submit to his."

"What does this have to do with working together?" Kar'ai asked.

Lorrik took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "I have questions. We have questions. And we all deserve some answers. Answers we can't get if we're dead."

"So we all work together. All make it back to the Academy. And what? Force Syrosk to answer our questions?" Arlia asked, disbelievingly.

"We can't force anything out of him, but as his apprentices, we'll be privy to more information than as mere acolytes," Lorrik explained. "And with eight of us, we'll have leverage, so long as we can agree to put aside our differences and not sabotage one another until we know our place, our real place, in the chaotic hierarchy that this Academy is perpetrating."

"And after we have our answers? We go back to regular Sith relationships?" Arlia asked.

"We've already tolerated and thrived alongside the presence of a second. Think about it, would any of you be the same if you had never entered the company of your companion? Would any of you be better off? You know the benefits of aiding one another, of challenging one another, of pushing each other forward. Think of what we could accomplish if we did the same, as eight acolytes. As eight apprentices. Think about it. Arlia, I shared a datacard with you, and you in turn shared it with Isorr, and allow it to pass between the other groups. In the end, we all were able to harness the power of Force lightning in some form, when previously we didn't even think it possible. We have grown more powerful. And yet we still continue to fight, as we should. We simply need to admit that we affect one another to such a degree that we needn't dispose of each other until the full benefits of our interactions can be partaken in."

"Cooperative antagonism," Arlia softly recited.

Isorr looked to his partner, a confused look upon his face. "Arlia?"

"As much as I'd hate to admit it, he has a point," Arlia admitted. "At this point in our training, any one of us would be at the mercy of Syrosk should his intentions lie towards our detriment. I don't know if we're capable of actively helping one another, but we can agree to put aside our differences until we know who or what is manipulating us."

"That 'who or what' right now, is him!" Isorr shouted, jutting a stern finger toward the Human. "How do we know this all isn't a trick to get us to play nice. To promise to not to kill him until he can return to the safety of the Academy. He is an inquisitor. What would you do Arlia? Would you risk traveling amongst the Korriban wastes with six people who hate you? Or would you try and gain their trust."

"I understand if you-" Lorrik tried to speak.

"Shut up!" Isorr interrupted. "Besides, even if we cooperated, Syrosk said that our water ration are unlikely to sustain a single acolyte. Whether we like it or not, we will be forced to fight, to take one another's water to survive."

Lorrik lowered himself to his knees. "That is… correct. Unless… we had more than one canister each."

The other students watched as the kneeling acolyte began shedding his outer layers of clothing.

"You'll remember I was rather late in arriving to the shuttle. There were some extra supplies I needed to procure."

Taking off his outer coat, Lorrik reveal that beneath he still had a full set of robes encompassing his body. Slipping his arms through the extra coat, the Human removed it and placed it flat in front of him beside his saber. Stitched into the fabric, rest eight cylinders wrapped in cloth so as to muffle any errant sounds they might have produced through contact. Retrieving two of the containers, Lorrik promptly handed them to Jresh who still remained silent.

"There is now enough water for all of us to make the return trip to the Academy, as long as we ration it and remember to maintain control of our bodies," Lorrik explained.

"Did Syrosk give us permission to bring extra water?" Ryloh asked.

"Now is the time we obsess over rules?" Lorrik joked.

Isorr cast a stern glare over the additional supplies. "How do we know you haven't poisoned those canisters?"

"You don't," Lorrik promptly admitted. "That's why I'm asking you all to trust me. That's why I'm relying only on my words instead of trying to get Jresh to convince you. Can I count on you all? I will lend my knowledge and my aid, and in return, we make the journey home. Together. So that we may all live to see our potentials fulfilled. Who is with me?"

The acolytes looked to one another, seeking answers in their companions.

"We're with you," Kar'ai stated, Ryloh nodding his head beside her.

Arlia supplied a jocular shrug. "Sure, why not?"

"Fine," Isorr muttered, shooting his partner a quick glare.

The acolytes turned to the beastly pair that had remained relatively silent throughout the proceedings. The Trandoshan and Nikto looked upon the Human with mutual trepidation. They looked to one another, but found no insight in each other's expressions. Then, unanimously, they offered an affirmative nod toward Lorrik.

"Excellent," Lorrik said with a smile. "Jresh, remember which way the shuttle went?"

"Yes. I also measured the time it took to arrive here from the Academy," Jresh explained. "Comparing that with the atmospheric velocity of the shuttle, I have a reasonable estimate to how far we must travel before we are home."

"Since when do you know about starships?" Lorrik asked with a baffling curiosity.

"You have your hobbies. I decided to take an interest in astromechanics," Jresh admitted.

"Really? Huh," Lorrik muttered with a positive understanding.

"It'll take at least four days travel on foot to return. Longer if we encounter substantive obstacles," Jresh explained.

"Can we make two canteens last that long?" Lorrik asked.

"Most likely," Jresh answered.

"Most likely," Lorrik repeated, slowly nodding his head. "Well then… let's get started."


	30. 2-04 Preparations

**Chapter Four: Preparations**

The eight students gathered in a circle as the Korriban sun berated them with its petulant rays. The acolytes gathered around Lorrik's laid out set of robes that acted as a mat upon the dusty planet's surface. Each student had taken their share of water with a relative lack of hesitance, leaving only the black cloth of the coat's interior.

"Alright. We need to do an inventory. Everyone lay down what you managed to bring along," Lorrik told the others. Jresh was the first to empty his pockets and folds, placing a the cylindrical hand torch and datacard reader upon the cloth, followed by a series of additional energy cells for their sabers. The others were less forthcoming.

"We're merely taking inventory," Jresh calmly said. "You'll be free to keep hold of your supplies. None of us will have the spare energy to try and steal them from you."

Ryloh was the first to comply, presenting two identical small boxes. 'Field Kit' was printed upon their tops in Aurebesh. Compact first aid kits. Bandages, cleaning materials, and vials of kolto contained within. Kar'ai followed, presenting two sealed packages of glistening plastic wrapping a nondescript brick of material. Edible rations. Hesitant to be called 'food'. Hyper-condensed nutritional paste made solid. Sates hunger. Digests slowly. Sustained sustenance at the cost of tasting like dirt.

Lorrik made a note of the materials and offered an approving nod toward the duo. Turning toward Nesk and Vurt, he was simply greeted with the Trandoshan slowly shaking his head.

"Is that a 'no, these are mine', or a 'no, we didn't bring anything'? Lorrik asked.

"Not require suppliess," Nesk admitted.

"You speaking for him too?" Lorrik asked, nudging his head toward the Nikto. The Trandoshan offered an affirming nod. "Well, you two are a credit to your species."

Isorr released a low grumble. "How do we know they aren't hiding something?"

"When have they ever set out to accomplish anything by means other than pure strength and determination?" Lorrik asked before turning to the primal pair. "A compliment, I assure you."

"Come on, Isorr, there's nothing to be gained at this point," Arlia stated as she reached into her pockets. Releasing another grumble, the Zabrak resigned himself to doing the same. The pair revealed more of the same field rations as well as additional energy cells.

"I'm honestly surprised you two didn't try to smuggle in any extra water," Lorrik admitted.

"If there was one trial I would not risk disqualification from, it'd be this one," Isorr explained.

Lorrik offered a knowing tilt of his head. "Fair point. Let's see here. One, two… six bricks of Imperial Survival Rations. Each brick typically divided into two meals, eaten at the start of each day. A Sith couple probably halve the portions, making them last four days. Good. Should lessen our need to hunt for food."

"Are we expected to share?" Arlia condescendingly asked.

"No, no, you had the forethought to bring them, you deserve them," Lorrik said, not an ounce of disingenuousness in his voice.

"Why didn't you two bring food?" Ryloh asked.

"I put the extra effort toward securing water," Lorrik explained.

"That, and he disposed of our rations months ago when he got his hands on some real food," Jresh added. "Nothing in our kitchen had any real lasting capability."

"We had a full meal before we departed, and we've a certain degree of control over our metabolisms. We'll be okay for now," Lorrik admitted. "I don't think Nesk or Vurt will succumb to hunger anytime soon, either." Turning his attention to the small assortment of supplies that laid before him, Lorrik bit his lip as his eyes darted to each minimal piece of relief. "Looks like this is what we're working with for now."

"What's with the datapad?" Kar'ai asked.

"I brought some information regarding the planet's fauna and flora, or rather, lack thereof," Lorrik explained. "This can help us find what's digestible, what's poisonous, those sort of things. Nesk and Vurt will likely be our best huntsmen. I can cook whatever we manage to trap and kill."

"Anything on the surrounding geography?" Kar'ai continued.

"Sadly, no. We're going to have to head back to the Academy and hope nothing insurmountable impedes our path," Lorrik stated. "I'll keep notes along our journey to keep us on the right track. I'm not exactly familiar with the stars, but if we keep track of the sun's movement we can be sure we're heading in the right direction each day. Hopefully."

The Zabrak crossed his arms as his gaze drifted toward the ground. "For all we know, Syrosk took a curved path home just to screw with us."

"I doubt it," Jresh admitted. "I believe he intends for at least some of us to succeed. He'd have no reason to needlessly disrupt our efforts."

"There is no accounting for that man and his 'reason's," Isorr muttered.

Lorrik lifted his gaze from the assorted supplies, staring off toward the horizon. "We've chatted enough. We need to start our travel sooner rather than later."

"So what, we just get up and walk back to the Academy? Just like that?" Arlia asked in a rather haughty fashion.

"There's only so much planning we can do at this point," Jresh plainly stated.

"He's right," Kar'ai spoke up. "Better to just get moving until we find a suitable place to rest."

Ryloh didn't share his partner's determination. "We don't exactly have the materials for making camp."

"With darkness comes danger. We'll most likely have to stop long before we tire," Lorrik explained.

"Are the lowly beasts of Korriban truly so dangerous?" Isorr dismissively asked.

"The creatures are forced to compete and survive, much as we do. They draw upon dark energies, much as we do. Our equals stalk the plains, waiting for us to let our guards down," Lorrik explained.

"So what do we do? Find a cave somewhere along our path?" Ryloh asked.

"Oh no. Caves are bastions of the darkness," Lorrik explained. "A boon for a Sith looking for a challenge. Not for one seeking survival. We'll likely settle down against a ridge. Something not completely exposed."

"Well, no reason to stand around, I guess," Arlia bluntly stated.

Each acolyte picked up their previously laid down supplies. Jresh left his materials on the robes, allowing Lorrik to wrap them up in the coat. Now in a tightly wound package, the Pureblood secured the duo's supplies to his waist by tucking the exposed sleeves of the coat into his belt. With an exchange of nods, the pair was ready to proceed.

"Unless anyone else got a better look at the shuttle's vector, Jresh should take the lead," Lorrik offered to no objections from the other acolytes.

Jresh quietly separated himself from the group as he calmly walked upon his set course. With little deliberation, the other acolytes followed in a motley arrangement, choosing to neither conform to a line nor walk closely upon the Pureblood's trail. In silence the caravan of humanoids progressed from the landing zone, into the mysterious lands that lay between themselves and the Academy. With time, the winds carried forth a new layer of dust upon the ground on which the acolytes once stood, removing any evidence of their presence.

Their boots continuously and methodically stepping upon the hardened ground, the students pressed onward toward their goal. Toward the Academy. Toward apprenticeship. Toward the future. Like so many trials before them, their path lay burdened by inhibitors. However, where once their greatest foes would be each other, now they had formed an alliance. To brave the harsh landscape. To uncover their master's intentions. To no longer simply survive, but to live. To find a life beyond the machinations of Sith Lords. To step outside the realm of simple dominion. To cast aside gambits and manipulations for the sake of the self.

And so the acolytes walked. For at the moment, that was all they were capable of. But eventually, they would be capable of so much more. They would have to be. They were Sith and they had no intention of shedding that designation. The Academy and those whom would use it sought to control them, as Sith were want to do. As Sith, it was their duty to take that control back. They stood united, cognizant of their potential. Not blind to pride. Not averse to gains. With time, there was greatness to be had. But only with time. For now, survival. But the acolytes were prepared. They had a plan. Though plans made by day's light rarely survived by the darkness of night.

* * *

Back at the Academy, the shuttle bearing Lord Syrosk touched down on the landing pad located toward the outer extremities of the Academy grounds. As the pilot began powering down the craft, the Sith Lord made his entrance into the cockpit. The Imperial immediately tensed at the powerful figure's presence. Surpassing the room's threshold, Syrosk placed a hand upon the pilot's shoulder.

"Wipe the ship's logs," Syrosk plainly directed, his rasp chilling the Human to the bone. Immediately complying, the pilot directed his attention to one of the many consoles upon his dashboard and began furiously tapping away at the interface. The Sith Lord turned to make his exit before taking one final pause. "If you tell anyone the details of this trip… I will exact upon you a most painful demise."

Without another word, the Sith Lord vacated the shuttle, leaving behind a severely frightened pilot trembling in his seat. Stepping off the ship, Lord Syrosk made his way back to the Academy with a steady haste unbefitting his usual demeanor, his cloak bobbing behind him as it grasped at the passing winds.


	31. 2-05 Intentions

**Chapter Five: Intentions**

The eight acolytes steadily walked across the vast expanse of desolateness that stretched around them. Dried lands. Dread lands. There was nothing of significance to be seen in any direction. However, none were sure of the danger that rest beyond the limited scope of their eyes. Though seemingly unpopulated, the area was not without its share of details. Rising from the barren terrain were a number of mountains, hills, and ridges that threatened to impede the students. Korriban's surface was naturally jagged, a place of harshness mirroring its inhabitants.

Keeping to a straight line, the acolytes were forced to overcome numerous changes in elevation, carefully ascending and descending the crackling slopes that lied before them. Occasionally, one student would lose their footing, momentarily forcing them to catch themselves against the orange rock that rest beneath their feet. The acolyte would stumble, then recover, with none of the others batting an eye of concern. They knew these hills were the least of their concern. Paying them any amount of attention would speak worse of themselves rather than the obstacles.

The Korriban sun slow began to lower itself from the sky. Falling ever so slowly, the acolytes' shadows steadily grew and elongated beside them as they continued their venture. The day was growing short as the light and heat slowly abandoned the acolytes. They had walked for hours, showing no signs of hunger nor thirst, marching with the intensity and integrity expected of a Sith. Hours more passed by, the sun dipping below the peak of a distant mountain ridge, leaving only a dimly orange haze in the place of natural lighting. As their surroundings grew ever darker and a chilled howl emerged a great distance away, the acolytes agreed that it was time to rest.

The students stopped as they reached a crescent shaped ridge jutting from the ground. With little in the way of supplies, there was not much to be done in the way dressing up the site. As the darkness of night began to envelope the group, Lorrik retrieved the hand torch from Jresh's pack. Digging a small hole in the ground, the Human activated the torch before securing it in its impromptu emplacement. On a low burn, the bit of technology offered a source of light for the acolytes to gather around. Sitting around the shimmering flame, the students lost themselves to their own thoughts.

"Are we sure the light won't attract any creatures?" Isorr sternly asked Lorrik.

"Any prowling hound could find us with or without the flame," Lorrik half-answered. "In the dead of night, they'd be more confident in trying to pick us off one by one."

"Fair enough," Isorr muttered.

"There really isn't much more we can do at this point," Lorrik admitted. "Eat some of your rations if you have them and attempt to get some sleep."

"Are we sure the rations won't attract any creatures?" Arlia asked.

"Honestly, they might repel them," Lorrik joked.

The four acolytes possessing edibles retrieved them from their robes, carefully unwrapping the bricks of murky, solid paste. Tearing off a bit of a corner, Arlia hesitantly placed the material into her mouth. The immediate wince upon her face detailed the ration's putrid taste. The others followed with similar results, fighting to keep down whatever they attempted to consume.

"How can you tell if these things are expired?" Ryloh curiously asked.

"Well, they supposedly have a shelf life of twenty years," Lorrik explained.

"An alchemist is behind this… I'm sure of it," Kar'ai stated through flared nostrils. Prompting a few chuckles, the foodless acolytes took a careful sip from their canteens. With no interest in further banter, the students finished their brief meals before placing their backs to the ridge. Far from a huddle, but the acolytes did arrange themselves in a relatively concise arrangement utilizing the bastion of the rocks behind them. No blankets. No pillows. The students merely laid upon the cold hard ground with nothing more than their robes acting as a cushion. Eventually, the eight drifted into a state of slumber, many of them clutching their sabers should the need to defend themselves arise.

As Lorrik closed his eyes, he traded one darkness for another. The blankness of his eyelids, however, soon turned into a dreamscape. Lorrik found himself standing in the middle of a barren field. Orange rock with only the faintest layer of dust and sand laying upon it. The field stretched endlessly in every direction, no changes in elevation to be seen. Only the vast flatness in the still of the night. Darkness surrounded Lorrik as readily as the harsh terrain, only the soft luminance of the stars above offering their gentle solace. Though he stood in his usual attire, he found himself metaphorically naked, no weapons by his side.

Before he could even begin to get a grasp of the situation, Lorrik heard a sharp crack emanate behind him. Distant, the inquisitor quickly turned to see no apparent source. Again the sound repeated, like the chipping of rock, this time to his left. Turning to face the noise, Lorrik found nothing. Another noise, this time the harsh scratching of blade against stone resonated behind him, louder than ever. Searching for the source, Lorrik caught only the frightening glance of a red blur escaping his vision. Trying to follow the blur proved folly as the inquisitor found himself despairing over his isolation. Nothing was there. Something was there. Haunting him. Lorrik thought to move, but his feet refused to move, except to only turn upon his heels one final time. Facing a new direction, he found the beast of crimson upon him. As much as time could freeze, it could not prevent the raking of the beast's claws across the Human's chest. Lorrik fell, and as his face touched the ground, he rose.

Shooting up from his prone position, Lorrik found only the light of the hand torch occupying his view. Awaking from his dream, he rubbed his face as he came to his senses. Looking around the camp site, the Human saw the other acolytes sound asleep. Six of them. Ryloh was missing. Carefully rising, Lorrik tried his hardest not to wake any of the slumbering Sith. Looking outward, the inquisitor saw a softly golden glow upon the ground a short distance away from the camp. Venturing forth, Lorrik carefully shuffled upon the coarse ground in as stealthy a fashion as he was capable of.

Walking amongst the shadows between the two sources of light, Lorrik saw the outline of a kneeling figure between him and the golden glow. Cautiously approaching, more and more details became apparent to the Human. It was definitely Ryloh, and the light came from the ignited training saber that lay in front of him.

"Ryloh…" Lorrik whispered, trying to get the Twi'lek's attention.

"Lorrik… Can't sleep either?" Ryloh replied without moving from his spot. Standing beside the kneeling figure, Lorrik saw that the fellow inquisitor knelt with his hands neatly placed upon his lap, his gaze gently affixed on the darkness beyond.

"I guess you could say that. What are you doing out here?" Lorrik asked, a softness to his voice.

"I've asked myself the same thing," Ryloh somberly replied. Unhooking the saber from his belt, Lorrik placed it next to Ryloh's before kneeling by his side. "It's strange, you know, seeing you taking control of the group."

"I don't know if I'd consider it taking control," Lorrik abashedly stated.

"You did something I thought impossible," Ryloh admitted. "Outside the confines of the Academy. All eight of us. No rules. Only the singular objective of making it back. And you managed to keep us all from killing each other."

"Well, it's only been a single day," Lorrik joked.

"I've been watching you," Ryloh warmly stated. "You've come a long way."

"I suppose that's a compliment."

"I don't mean since we've begun training under Syrosk," Ryloh explained. "Lorrik Velash. Student of class two. Friend of Jora Dynn. Enemy of Ornell Barath. Otherwise un-confrontational with fellow students. High marks in academics, but low in physical trials. Obviously some things have changed in six months."

"You're… quite the observer," Lorrik stated, somewhat astounded.

"It's what I'm best at," Ryloh replied with a softened chuckle. "It's how I got through my early years of training. Watch. Listen. Observe. React accordingly."

"I can relate," Lorrik admitted. "I could never count on physical superiority, and I never had the cutthroat mentality of other inquisitors."

"But you were at least personable," Ryloh offered. "As much grief as the others might give you for your talking, you knew enough about how people work. Entering agreements… offering trades and barters, all without the connotations of conniving manipulation. I wasn't capable of that. I kept to the shadows, hidden out of sight. Both metaphorically and literally. I isolated myself." Ryloh's head sunk as his voice eventually faded.

The Human forced a smile. "At least things seem to have changed."

"And it seems some changes are still ahead," Ryloh stated with no variance from his previous tone.

"Does that bother you?"

"In some ways… yes. Can I be honest with you for a moment?" Ryloh softly asked.

"Of course."

"The fact that I'm even sitting here right now is an accident," Ryloh admitted. Lorrik offered a curious glance to the Twi'lek. "You remember that first day, Syrosk didn't pick us, the warriors did. Nesk and Kar'ai were fielding potential partners in the dueling area, having us fight each other for their approval. Vurt managed to catch Nesk's eye. As Kar'ai watched students duel, I did as well. I wanted nothing to do with it, but I had every intention of understanding what exactly was going on. Then, some classmates managed to push me into the circle. I dueled, lest I draw the attention fleeing would entail. Defended myself. Managed to edge out a victory. Nothing showy. Nothing above and beyond my peers. Yet, for some insane reason, Kar'ai picked me as her partner. At first, I thought she wanted me as a trophy, a pet, or someone to make her look even better. But that couldn't be further from reality."

"She was accepting of Syrosk's arrangement?" Lorrik asked.

"More than accepting. She pushed me to be better. To strive. To accomplish. I had no ambition, no desire to rise above the others. I just wanted to get by. Get out of this Academy alive. I still intend on surviving, but she taught me to want something more. She taught me to take control of my own life. Follow my own destiny. And I'm eternally thankful for that. For her. Now, we're more than allies. More than partners. But… my mind is plagued with concern."

"What concerns you? The idea of attachment?"

"No. She provides me emotion. Passion. Strength. She's the very reason I might stand to call myself a Sith. No, my concern lies with our teachings. Our master. This Academy."

"You're not alone. I can assure you when we return, we'll get some answers," Lorrik explained.

"My entire stay here… answers were the only thing I ever wanted. Now… now, I'm not so sure. I'm scared of what those answers might be."

Lorrik eyes narrowed as he maintained his gaze upon the reticent Twi'lek. "Are you afraid of what Syrosk has planned for us?"

"It's much more than that. There's more amiss than our master's intentions," Ryloh explained. The Human arched his brow before leaning in.

"Tell me more," Lorrik whispered.

"We've been manipulated. Lied to. Misdirected. And not by Syrosk. At least, not solely by him. In all my years of watching and listening for every bit of absorbable information, I came across… contradictions. I thought it was all a part of the process. Just throw misinformation at the students, see what sticks, judge them on it. But now, I'm not so sure. This Academy and its instructors… they've been controlling us. And we freed ourselves from them only to fall under Syrosk's control."

"We'll earn our freedom in time. I'm sure of it," Lorrik emphatically stated.

"Will we? Should we?" Ryloh asked, less enthused. "Would we truly be better off given complete control of our lives? The Academy was driving us toward something. Syrosk is driving us toward something. I was born a slave. I considered myself somewhat free within the halls of the Academy. I was merely isolated. Cut off from those stronger and weaker than I. Stagnant. And eventually my luck of getting by would run out. Kar'ai taught me to take control, but in order to do that I had to freely offer it to her first. She's given me something more than I ever could have attained were I free. I thank her for it. I admire her for it. I love her for it."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Control and freedom take many forms, each holding positive and negative outcomes. Whilst under the tutelage of the class instructors, our progress waned. Under Syrosk, it has been bolstered beyond what we thought possible."

"But how much can we credit Syrosk with our success? Much of the time we'd receive a short lesson and he'd send us on our way. We've accomplished much without our master's intervention."

"Have we? Maybe this is all a part of his plan. All a part of his style. Freedom is an illusion for all but the most powerful Sith. We should focus on making the most of our controller rather than needlessly lash out at what we see as oppression. I know you want answers. I do too. But he is an asset we cannot dismiss. There's a chance all this is for our benefit."

"You truly believe so?"

Ryloh released a soft sigh. "Think about it. When was the last time Syrosk seemed surprised by anything? He is meticulous in his plans. He knew what thoughts would pass through our heads out here. You think he'd send us out here without knowing the outcome? In whatever manner we return, he will undoubtedly expect it. Even out of reach, out of sight, he is guiding us."

"The question is whether his intentions are entirely selfish."

"There were many things he could have done differently. He pulled us from the Academy classrooms. We would have worshiped him, treated him as our all-powerful savior had he cultivated that mentality. But he didn't. He's given us a taste of freedom. He's given us time to think. He's given us the opportunity to rebel. He has every intention to influence our paths, but I believe that we walk a path worth following."

"You think he's actively working toward our benefit?" Lorrik asked.

"Isn't that what you're trying to do?"

"I suppose you're right. And I suppose there's room for dissenting thought outside the ranks of unruly acolytes," Lorrik stated with a smile. Gently, the Human rose from his knees and re-hooked his saber to his belt.

"Thanks for listening," Ryloh gratefully stated.

"No problem. Try and get some sleep. Or at least head back to the campsite. Wouldn't want you to get picked off by a hound."

"I suppose you're right."

Together, the two acolytes walked amongst the quiet darkness back to the lambent flicker of the still-burning torch that the others surrounded in their slumberous state.


	32. 2-06 Gambits

**Chapter Six: Gambits**

The sun rose from its slumber behind the jagged mountaintops of the Korriban landscape. As the hours of morning were fading into those of midday, the eight acolytes had long since moved on from their camp, leaving little evidence of their overnight stay amongst the dusty ridge. Wind swept across the plains, across the hills, across the tumultuous rocks, kicking up dust and providing a subtle tune for those who would care to listen. Further down the path traveled by the Sith students, a much harsher sound echoed far and wide.

A painful howl emanated from a wounded acolyte. At the base of a mountain ridge, Lorrik sat amidst the rustling dirt, clutching at his leg in agony. No others to be seen in any direction, only the unforgiving terrain that surrounded him. No words, only the unclear ramblings of a pained individual cursing the wind with all his soul. The shouts traveled far, and they were not without their recipients, intended or otherwise.

In distance, upon the stretching plains before the wounded acolyte, beasts were beginning to take notice of the feeble Human's plight. A pack of wild tuk'ata. Sith hounds with blackened, jagged hides fast approached the fallen inquisitor. They approached fast and low, kicking up more dust as their claws raked at the dirt for traction. Clutching at the ground with each step, they feverishly propelled themselves toward their intended bounty as the distance between the pack and the Human grew shorter and shorter. Six strong, the pack would decimate the wounded inquisitor the moment one could sink their teeth into the howling man's flesh.

Just as the pack leader readied its final assault, it stumbled to the ground without notice, tumbling and tripping the hounds directly behind it. Taking no notice, two flanking beasts pressed forward uninhibited, until they found themselves losing traction as their paws no longer touched the ground. Gently floating into the air, the tuk'ata lashed out with their legs and snapped their jaws at the invisible forces enwrapping them. As the four hounds behind them recovered from their fall, they found the injured man was not alone.

Emerging with frightening haste from the surrounding rocks, four warriors stormed the pack, sabers drawn, energy arrays ignited. Fight or flight engaged. All parties selected to fight. The pack leader lunged at the figure of crimson flesh before being stuck down by the infernal blow of the Pureblood's weapon. The horned individual faced the spiky hound that graced his presence and extended his clenching hand, suffocated the beast with his invisible grip. Another hound charged the marked female, who stood still in the face of the barreling tuk'ata, stepping aside only at the last moment to offer a gentle riposte, flooring the beast. The lizard charged upon the fourth tuk'ata, matching its ferocity as it bashed the hound with his clawed hand before finishing it with a twist of his blade.

The floating tuk'ata watched as three more figures emerged from the rocks. The blue male gazed upon them with his arms outstretched, whilst the purple and orange figures approached them each with murderous intent in their eyes. In no time at all, the pack had been rendered lifeless. Inert. Dusting off his legs, Lorrik slowly raised himself from his fallen position to no detriment.

"Told it so," Nesk snarled with an unusual confidence.

"Okay, I'll admit it was a good plan," Lorrik stated. "My datacard spoke rather highly of the beasts, I wasn't entirely sure if they'd fall for it."

"To be fair, you make a convincing victim," Arlia joked.

"Because I've had so much practice?" Lorrik warmly added, finishing her insult for her. The Twi'lek offered a hearty laugh as she sheathed her saber.

"Keep in high spirits. You're going to need it when you eat these things," Arlia stated.

"Can't be worse than your field rations," Lorrik muttered.

"I'd be hard pressed to disagree. Well, there's certainly enough here for all of us. If we have a nice meal we can stretch out our rations. Might be inclined to share some later on," Arlia teased.

"It was Nesk and Vurt's plan, they get to decide who eats," Jresh declared.

"Must harvest meat. Then decide," Nesk explained as he began dragging tuk'ata carcasses into a tidy pile.

"We don't exactly have the tools to flense and clean these things, so we don't have an exact figure for how much edible meat we can retrieve for cooking," Lorrik admitted.

"Will prove it wrong again," Nesk muttered as he finished his piling duties. "Vurt!"

Dragging a tuk'ata, the Trandoshan laid it down away from the others, it's abdomen exposed to the sky. Vurt silently approached and took a knee in front of the displayed carcass. Nesk knelt at the opposite flank and traced a line with his claw from end to end, beginning at the beast's neck. Closing his eyes, Vurt removed his gloves and placed his sharped nail at the point his partner had instructed. Concentrating, the Nikto grimaced as he focused his power through his hand. Instead of the usual forceful push, a precise cut manifested. As Vurt went to work incising upon the tuk'ata, the other acolyte watched from the sidelines with mixed reactions.

"It may taste better, but when it comes to odor… I'll stick with the rations," Ryloh admitted.

"Just wait till you see me work my magic," Lorrik stated, tinged with self-confidence.

"You don't mean, like, actual magic, right? I've tasted what Sith alchemy does to food," Arlia offered with an inherent dread.

* * *

Lord Syrosk stood, resolute, amongst the drifting winds in front of the Sith Academy. His hands behind his back, his figure utterly motionless aside from the gentle wafting of his cloak in his breeze, the Sith Lord waited. And waited. For something. For someone. His eyes fixed upon the distant horizon, the sight he awaited finally manifested, prompting no joy in the alien's exposed visage. Descending from the sky, an Imperial shuttle made its way toward the landing pad that lay a short distance in front of the Sith Lord.

Touching down, the vessel let out a soft bellow as it relaxed upon its gears. As the panel concealing the shuttle's side exit extended, the hatch withdrew revealing only the darkness of the ship's interior. Such darkness was only broken when the vessel's sole inhabitant stepped out into the illuminating light of the Korriban sun. Though basking in the rays of the midday luminance, the arriving figure manage to preserve the aura of darkness in his presence.

The man stood in the blackened armor of a Sith warlord. Heavy fabric beset by armored plates, a black cape trailing him. Only the pale flesh of the Human's head lay exposed from the fully encompassing suit. Taking a step away from the shuttle, followed by another, the figure walked with an intimidation heavily seeded in his gait. The Sith drew ever closer to Lord Syrosk, who refused to shift from his planted position. The dark figure matched the alien in height and bulk, but countered the alien's perpetual scowl. The Sith appeared sufficiently aged, even more so than Syrosk. His skin was pale and creased, and the grayed hairs atop his head were meticulously kept. Though far in his years, the Sith's face possessed a sense of charisma in his visage, unburdened by the typical signs of dark side corruption. But the Sith's power was certain to all who gazed upon him, to all whom possessed even the slightest connection to the Force.

"Lord Tash," Syrosk coldly greeted with his usual rasp.

"Darth Tash," the Sith quickly corrected. The two matched cold stares, each unrelenting, each unforgiving. "Surely you do not intend to keep me from my students?" The Darth's speech was utterly measured. Calm. Bitterly cold and unyielding, yet continuously smooth.

"From your students? No," Syrosk answered.

"Ah yes, don't believe that your meddling into my affairs has escaped my attention," Tash said, no overt hatred in his voice. "While I was out conquering worlds, you intruded upon my flock and plucked eight students for yourselves. Interrupting and disrupting the work of my appointed instructors."

"You've not as much control of this Academy as you think," Syrosk rasped. "My actions were carried out with the permission of men above both of us. You're free to continue your operations in the forgotten halls. I'm sure the absence of eight lowly acolytes will make no difference."

"You should mind your place, " Tash said with a harsh whisper, breaking his previously serene facade. "I still have the power to put a permanent end your intrusive meddling."

"You forget the difference between power and authority," Syrosk countered. "And here… you've neither. Tend to your crop, but don't expect to find any weeds. I've ensured that they remain far beyond your reach."

"You have no idea how far my reach can extend," Tash replied with a slight curl to his lips.

"You'd be surprised," Syrosk emphatically stated as he finally removed himself from the Darth's path. Unflustered, the gray Human continued on his path. Syrosk watched with dispassionate eyes as Darth Tash distanced himself from his position before finally disappearing into the bowels of the Academy. Returning his gaze to the distant horizon, the Sith Lord once again stood alone as the wind gently swept by.


	33. 2-07 Promises

**Chapter Seven: Promises**

The eight acolytes sat in a motley gathering upon the warmly lit dirt. A couple of tuk'ata lay harvested a short distance away, out of general sensory range. A small strip of meat lay floating directly in front of Lorrik's concentrated gaze, his mind holding it as his hand held a fully ignited hand torch.

Passing the flame under the meat at regular intervals the piece slowly but surely darkened as it cooked. Across from the chef, other partook in the bits and pieces he had previously tended to. As Arlia took a bite of her gifted strip, her face offered something far from delight as a response. Luckily, it was just as far from disgust.

"Magic, eh?" Arlia prodded the still focused Lorrik.

"I may… have overestimated my ability to cook with such limited tools," the Human cautiously admitted, never taking his eyes or focus off his cooking. "Yours turn out okay Jresh?"

"No complaints," Jresh immediately admitted as he tore into his allotment of food.

To his left, Nesk and Vurt seemed more than content with Lorrik's treatment of their bounty. The others found a genuinely sweet respite from their horrendously distasteful rations. Finishing his own piece last, Lorrik waited hardly a moment before taking a bite of his strip of meat.

Chewing, savoring the meal, the inquisitor found himself in the most peaceful of states since the last few days, since before the long journey home had even began. Tuk'ata meat wasn't the best cooking material even with a proper kitchen. But this wasn't a matter of taste. It wasn't a matter of food. It was a matter of fulfillment. Lorrik. Of satisfaction. Of achievement. Lorrik. Of recognizing the beauty of something from nothing.

"Lorrik!"

Looking up, the Human saw the other seven acolytes staring him down. Silent. Baring expressions ranging from judgment to concern.

"Huh?" Lorrik confusingly muttered.

"You okay?" Ryloh offered. "You seemed out of it for a moment. Thought you might have ingested something poisonous."

"No, no. I'm fine," Lorrik bashfully answered.

"Good, didn't exactly need or want to have second thought about this meal," Kar'ai emphatically stated.

"Good to have something so basic. Just meat plus fire equals food. None of that artificial nonsense," Arlia declared.

"Actually, the tuk'ata exist because of Sith alchemy," Lorrik explained. "What species they were based from, I don't know, but they aren't exactly natural. Well, I guess that depends on how natural you think dark side influence is."

"I said I didn't need second thoughts about this meal," Kar'ai restated, unamused.

"Don't worry, all the poisonous bits are along the skull and back," Lorrik nonchalantly informed. "Get deep enough below the hide and it should be safe to eat."

"Should be?" Ryloh and Kar'ai exclaimed in unison.

"Most of what's left living in Korriban has been touched by the dark side or the Sith, and they are forced to compete and feed off one another," Lorrik explained. "Whatever toxins or taints exist within their prey, they endure it to ensure their own survival. The disparity between strength and weakness isn't getting enough to eat, it's enduring indigestion."

"Somewhere along the line, I think your metaphor lost traction," Arlia admitted.

"Oh, was I making a metaphor?" Lorrik playfully asked.

"It's true, the situation the Academy tries to develop for its students isn't wholly unique," Ryloh offered.

Lorrik supplied a confident nod. "It's found in nature. Granted, in nature the Sith fostered, but found nonetheless."

"Man points how creatures must compete amongst dire circumstances to survive and become strong, the day after he proposes an agreement of cooperation," Arlia said with a bemused chuckle.

"I think my point stands," Lorrik admitted. "The Academy tried to tell us we're all completely separate entities. Completely independent from one another. Completely isolated. These tuk'ata weren't competing with each other. They ran as a pack."

"And they lost," Isorr lowly muttered.

"To a superior force," Lorrik replied. "Any one of us most likely would have been overrun if we faced the pack alone. And these are the lesser of their kind. The tuk'ata that stalk the wastes have lost much of what their Sith masters had instilled in them. They are force sensitive. Semi-sentient. Some are capable of speech, or living more than a century. You get a pack of the breed Sith Lords use to guard their tombs, you have a force to be reckoned with."

"And you didn't know they'd respond to a Human in pain?" Arlia joked.

"Doing a lot of overestimation this morning, I'll readily admit as much," Lorrik plainly offered.

"If I regret this meal hours from now, this alliance is over," Arlia half-jokingly stated.

"I would never knowingly do anything to harm any one of us. I promise."

* * *

In the grand lecture hall nestled deep within the Academy lower extremities, the entirety of eight classrooms worth of students gathered amongst the stony arrangements that surrounded the empty dais in the center of the room. Where once Isorr and Jresh had sought their partners under Lord Syrosk, the mass of acolytes that failed to or didn't want to meet their approval sat with growing trepidation. Entire classes of inquisitors and warriors gathered in the same place, with their instructors situated in the row nearest the speaker's platform.

None had witnessed such a feat. None had any clue as to what could prompt such a gathering. Each student saw others they had only caught brief glimpses of when classes would occasionally share a sparring space. Each student gazed upon the full roster of the remaining warriors and inquisitors that remained within the ring. The subtle murmurs and chatters between the young adults of various species and creeds echoed throughout the circular chamber as their voices carried and bounced off the solid surfaces that surrounded them. All the while, their instructors sat below them, paying no attention to their lessers, offering nothing tantamount to instruction or guidance. Merely the slow meaningless passage of time. Until meaning presented itself as it passed through the chamber's entrance.

There was no clamorous entrance, no booming intrusion, no sweeping of doors. Merely the contained essence of a Darth entering the threshold of the lecture hall. The audible musings and conversations between students immediately ceased. For the first time, they were in the presence of true power. Tucked away in the forgotten halls, they only had themselves as company. No Council members graced their presence on their way to their chambers. No powerful Lords came to them directly. In their minds, that was the standard. An orchestrated existence years in the making. And amongst them now walked its orchestrator.

Slowly, Darth Tash made his way to the central area below. With each conservative step, the students that sat nearby basked in his aura. As time went on, the acolytes gained greater and greater comprehension of the elder Human's strength. Where one could expect frailty, they saw only vitality. Where one could expect weakness, they only felt raw power. Where one could expect a distanced superiority, they sensed an odd consideration. The acolytes could not distinguish whether they were there for him, or whether he was there for them. Taking his spot upon the slightly raised dais, the entirety of his surroundings focused on his presence. The students. The instructors. The room's fixtures themselves.

"Esteemed students of the Korriban Academy," Tash began, his voice penetrating the ear of every inhabitant. "Warriors. Inquisitors. Acolytes. You have toiled for years under the assumption that you may one day become true Sith. You have not been misled. Within each of you rests the potential. The potential for strength. The potential for knowledge. The potential to unlock the secrets of the Force! And after so long, you toiling has not gone unnoticed. I am Darth Tash. The man who single-handedly won the Battle over Dantooine. The man who drove back the Republic with the Nebulae Campaign. The man who has commanded squads… companies… battalions… in the service of the Emperor! Through my guidance, Imperials have achieved greatness. Mere soldiers turned into commanders. Officers turned into Moffs. I now seek to offer my expertise to you my young Sith. Your instructors have put you on the path… the path toward true power. I will walk amongst you down that path. To shepherd you into the darkness. Through the darkness. There, you will learn to master it. There, you will learn to control the Force."

* * *

As enraptured by the speech the impressionable acolytes were, their attention was interrupted by the intrusion of a new party. From the entrance, a dark figure appeared and began to make his way toward the platform. It was Lord Syrosk.

* * *

"We're in a situation we couldn't have prepared for," Lorrik admitted. "There are forces at work beyond our knowledge. Beyond our understanding. We don't have all the answers, and to be honest, there's a chance we never will. But if we don't cooperate, we'll eventually succumb to whomever hides those answers."

* * *

As Lord Syrosk made his way to the stationary Darth Tash, the once silent hall resumed its previous murmurings. Where one would expect outrage, the Darth remained utterly calm and collected despite the intrusion. When Syrosk had make it to the floor level, he had reached his point of confrontation.

"It is unwise to promise that which you cannot provide, Tash," Syrosk offered with his usual rasp.

"I shan't disagree with you Syrosk. Fortunately, I have yet to overstate what I can provide these acolytes," Tash replied, unhesitant to banter with the intruder. The alien fast approached the Darth upon the dais. Directly facing one another, Tash now stood a head higher than his opponent.

"What is it you hope to accomplish?" Syrosk harshly whispered. "Hmm? There are better ways to raise an army."

"You poor, insolent, fool," Tash whispered back. "You still believe that I desire an army."

* * *

"I am certain we can survive this," Lorrik continued. "I am certain we'll come out of this venture ahead. Look at how we perform when we point our skills toward a common goal. Effortlessly defeating a pack of tuk'ata. We've bolstered our reserve of resources. There will never be a shortage of struggles in this world. In this galaxy. We needn't keep one another down to achieve greatness."

* * *

"This man!" Tash turned his attention to the gathered students. "He has already taken a number of students from your ranks. He has sought to remove them from the Academy before they were ready. To distill that which they have earned within these halls. To remove the teachings of your instructors. Is the kind of master you would offer yourself to? One who would disregard Sith tenets… and to what avail?"

"You've revealed your incompetence. You've no knowledge of this Academy or its workings," Syrosk rasped. "You have been fighting and killing for personal glory, not for the sake of the Empire. I've successfully trained eight remarkable students. Taken them away from the indoctrinating succor of the instructors. I have given them true strength. That which these classrooms cannot provide."

* * *

"We've been given a specific toolset," Lorrik explained. "By the Academy. By Lord Syrosk. We are capable of great deeds as individuals. As a team, who knows our limits? We were brought here for a reason. We were chosen by Syrosk, for a reason. We chose each other, for a reason. We're beyond the point of taking whatever our superiors graciously provide. We are at the point of self-providence."

* * *

"And what exactly are your students capable of?" Tash brazenly asked.

"These acolytes are aware of their strength. Of their deeds," Syrosk explained. "One of mine single handedly defeated a number of acolytes, mangling one's hand in such a way that it hasn't recovered in six months."

"You have merely capitalized upon the instructions provided within these halls," Tash replied. "I am capable to doing the same. And to a much, much greater degree."

"I…" Syrosk rasped before stopping in his tracks. He found himself incapable of speaking. Incapable of moving.

"You've been gone from the battlefield far too long, Syrosk," Tash taunted, not even directly focusing his attention on the shivering Sith Lord. "You've become lax. Become content with your little group of acolytes. You've trained them at the expense of yourself. At the expense of your own power. Can you consider that strength? Can any of you consider that strength?" The gathered acolytes watched with amazement as Darth Tash dominated the man they had last since believed their true superior. A grimace wiped over Lord Syrosk's face as he struggled to combat the dark lord's oppressive force. Bending slightly down, the Darth now stood with his face even with his captive, and began to softly whisper. "Surely, you must have seen this coming."

* * *

"There is greatness within each of us. But there is also a uniqueness we cannot abandon," Lorrik advised. "I will never stand at the same level as Jresh on some grounds. He will never match a specific set of skills I possess. None of us will hunt as well as Nesk. Focus as well as Vurt. Fight as well as Kar'ai. Strive as well as Ryloh. Adapt as well as Arlia. Believe as well as Isorr."

* * *

"Now… kneel," Darth Tash commanded. Syrosk cringed as he felt a new wave of telekinetic force press down upon him. He continued to fight. Continued to resist. His feet remained adamantly planted. But only for the moment.

* * *

"We will trip. We will fall. We will be beaten. It take strength to fight on through the pain, through the oppression, through the sorrow. But it takes even more strength to offer your hand to a fellow."

Slowly, Lord Syrosk began to bend. Began to crumble under the pressure. Lower, and lower his head fell. His fists and teeth clenched with rage, the alien found no release, no proper defending against the onslaught. Eventually, he yielded to the dark lord. His arm upon a knee, the other upon the cold floor of the lecture hall, Lord Syrosk had succumbed to Darth Tash's will. A concern rose within the fallen Lord's eyes as they darted from the Human's boots to the floor, to wherever he could land them.

"You're as weak as your master." Tash whispered as he returned his attention to the gathered acolytes, his arms raised in triumph. Syrosk offered a silent curse before storming out of the hall.

"This man was able to produce students of admittedly admirable capabilities, whilst prying them from their instructors. Imagine what greatness I could bestow upon you all, should you finish your instruction. I can offer something much greater than mere apprenticeship."

* * *

"Our time is coming."

* * *

"Your time is coming."

* * *

"Together, we can achieve greatness."

* * *

"Together, we can achieve greatness."

* * *

"I promise you…"

* * *

"I promise you…"


	34. 2-08 Drifters

**Chapter Eight: Drifters**

Lord Syrosk exited the lecture hall with a furious haste, his coat trailing heavily behind him as he bustled through the Academy. He stormed through the halls toward his residence in the upper levels, a vile hatred brewing within him. Slipping past the threshold of his cramped quarters, the alien could no longer contain himself.

"Foolish. He's right. I've been focusing too much on my students. Should have never confronting him physically. Should have just revealed his lies. No! No. Even if they believed me, it'd mean their deaths. A person's word is only as good as his standing in the Empire. He remains above me. Even more so now."

Syrosk let out a low growl.

"How could I have played into his wants again. All that I have done, all that I have achieved has been due to preparation, and I threw it all away because of my anger. My rage. My undying hate. I helped him. And I couldn't see it coming. Damn! I had forgotten his strength. I had forgotten. Too focused. Too focused on the students. The acolytes. They are progressing. But is it fast enough? I can't deviate. Not now. I've come too far. Sacrificed too much. They'll fulfill their part. They must. Tash has made his show. A display that went better than even he could have imagined. He's sure of himself. Of his plans. Perhaps… too sure."

The pacing and stomping Sith Lord suddenly calmed.

"He's made a public display of my inferiority. In his mind, I'm less of a threat. Less worthy of his notice. Yes. Yes! Tash's victory can still be used to my favor. I can accomplish more away from the prying eyes of the Darth and his minions. He'll return to his war invigorated. Less attentive to whatever machinations I may currently partake in. Excellent. This. This I can work with. When the students return. Then. Then we can truly begin."

* * *

Jresh led the other seven acolytes across the wasted plains of Korriban in a dedicated trudge. Past the midday mark, the students of Lord Syrosk had resigned themselves to the mindless, numbing task of traversing the lands between them and the Academy. The orange scenescape stretched out before their eyes before it would inevitable end at the beginning of some jagged protrusion or darkened fissure.

"Are we still sure you're going the right way?" Isorr begrudgingly asked of the group's shepherd.

"That depends. Are you asking if we're sure, or I'm sure?," Jresh stoically replied. "Because I've no insight as to your thought processes."

Isorr released a low, drawn-out grumble. "Are you deflecting the question because you are lost?"

Jresh maintained his forward march unabated. "If I answered no, you'd still have no way of knowing if I was lost or not. After accounting for straight up lies, I could still say no if I was deflecting for a number of other reasons."

"I'm sorry, I thought I was talking to Jresh, but apparently Lorrik has grown big and red in the last few hours," Isorr muttered.

"Even on a free day back at the Academy I could challenge my body and mind more than I can on a simple walk across the blasted landscape," Jresh admitted. "Malnutrition. Simplistic movements. Lack of structure. Our bodies will likely be in a detrimental state upon our return to the Academy. I'm trying to stall the degradation in any way I can."

"With catty remarks?"

"Any petulance gleamed from my words is merely imagined," Jresh replied. "I haven't the time nor energy to devote to whatever vitriol you feel myself capable of generating. I speak truths. Facts. Logics. Severed from emotion. Feelings are reserved for matter of far greater significance, not banters in the middle of nowhere."

"You realize you've passed the threshold of disinterest so far that you've looped back straight into caring far too much."

"Good to see you picked up on it," Jresh bluntly stated. "I was worried the passive-aggressiveness would go over your head. Sith usually require things to be so overt."

"I think the heat might be getting to you," Isorr admitted. "Or perhaps the tuk'ata meat."

"I'm doing just fine. I simply prefer to be stationary when greeted with long periods of silence. While in motion, my mind does require some form of stimulation," Jresh stated. The other acolytes continued to follow a short distance beyond the two front men, looking upon them with curiosity.

"I never thought I'd see them talking," Arlia spoke up.

"To be honest, me neither," Lorrik admitted, walking adjacent to her.

"Don't get me wrong, I don't think Isorr will ever stop hating Jresh," Arlia stated.

"Once again, me neither. Then again, I don't think Jresh would approve if Isorr became a friend," Lorrik said with a chuckle. "There's something inside him, something that desires conflict. Strife. Antagonism. He wants to be challenged in all ways. That's how he thinks he'll become better. Stronger. And it's something I can't wholly provide."

"I don't know. You two had a rather remarkable duel," Arlia admitted. "Both parties holding their own, making a good show."

"There's an inherent mental aspect when you duel someone. An ethereal connection. 'No two duels are exactly alike', that sort of thing." Lorrik explained. "I can't replicate the disdain, the hatred, the abhorrence that can fuel a proper conflict. He's patient. Understanding. Open-minded. But still a warrior at heart. One with aspirations. And I intend to see them fulfilled."

"You truly care about him?" Arlia asked.

"I do," Lorrik admitted. "I wouldn't be where I am without him."

"You understand the risk in such strong relationships."

"I do," Lorrik repeated. "But I honestly can't say I'd be in a better place without his companionship. Sith doctrines tell us not to trust, not to make friends, not to fall in love, because it makes us weak. But that is fear. And I consider that a much more potent weakness."

Arlia offered a dismissive laugh. "Love? There's something you thought you'd never see in the Academy. Sure there were relationships. Flings amongst the lesser students. But it was always impersonal. Selfish. Short lasting. But I suppose now more than ever anything is possible."

"If you ever need confirmation, you can just look to Ryloh and Kar'ai," Lorrik stated.

"Is that so?" Arlia offered with a grin as she turned to the rear of the pack.

Between them and the beastly pair that took up the rear of the group, the Twi'lek and Rattataki walked side by side. They shared not words, nor contact, but there was a connection between the two. Something that could not be seen nor measured, but a unity that perplexed Arlia to a positive degree.

The acolytes pressed forward, eager to put as much distance forward as possible by day. The students had grown confident. There was a cohesiveness within them. A combined strength. They planned to walk. And walk they did. The acolytes covered kilometer after kilometer of ground with no interruptions, no hazardous conditions, and no inhibitors. Their path was bright, and they had no intention of breaking away from it.

But there was only so much light to the day, long as it seemed to the travelers. Day turned to dusk, which turned to night. The acolytes' eyes adjusted, granting them sight within the darkness. The acolytes' hearts shifted as well. Spurred on from their victory against the tuk'ata pack, they pressed on unafraid. The students stalked the planes, unaided by torchlight nor flame. Midnight came and went, with the acolytes eventually reaching the end of their energetic reserves. Gazing up into the night sky, their thoughts momentarily drifted from the harshness that surrounded them. The cool breeze offered them respite from the usual heat. The starry sky offered them respite from the usual barren jaggedness that stretched around them.

Eventually, the group happened upon a suitable resting spot against a boulder formation. The acolytes carefully partook in their water reserves. The ration holders generously offered a small division of their bounty to those who went without. The thankfulness quickly turned to momentary regret as they partook in the horrendous substance. The materials managed to offend the discerning tongue of Lorrik, the otherwise unwavering Jresh, and the meat-loving Nesk. Vurt ate his piece with no outward display of emotion, merely the contemplative visage of someone in deep regret of his actions.

With rest, came slumber. The acolytes drifted to sleep under the cover of darkness. No awakenings. No nightmares. They had found a peace worth preserving. Worth succumbing to. For six hours they rested, unconsciously preparing for the next morning. The acolytes eventually came to at their own paces, most welcoming the new day before the sun had ascended beyond the jagged peaks. The students arose, ready to tackle the trek ahead of them.

The tale of their journey thus far could be readily gleamed from their appearance. Their robes were stained with the constant attention of the dust and dirt that perpetually surrounded them. The various seams and trimmings of cloth were beginning to show their wear, stretches, scrapes, and contortions revealing themselves upon areas that had directly offered their touch to the Korriban landscape.

The students set out under the sanctum of the early morning. Jresh took the lead to no objections. The Pureblood guided the acolytes across more and more plains, intent on delivering them all closer to the Academy with each passing moment. That intention hit a snag a couple of hours into that day's journey. The eight acolytes found themselves gazing upon a ravenous stretch of land in the midst of their path. Treacherous pits beset by craggy ridges. The students themselves stood at the edge of a precipitous canyon that descended into utter darkness. They faced perilous climbs and disastrous falls whether they decided upon a path of ascending over the various mountains that bridged the gap on either side, or descending into mysterious depths below and raising themselves upon the opposite face.

"We've certainly reached a predicament," Jresh stoically admitted.


	35. 2-09 Climbs

**Chapter Nine: Climbs**

"Is this what you were talking about when you mentioned 'substantive obstacles'?" Lorrik asked in a slightly dreary tone.

"I wouldn't define this as substantive. Troublesome perhaps, but not substantive," Jresh clarified. "In the very least, we can see the other side and a way across."

"A way across? Where?" Lorrik asked.

"The pit lies between two ridges," Jresh explained, offering a quick gesture to the left and right. "Though steep, the raised formations are not completely shear. We can climb laterally and scale the ridge to the other side of the pit."

"Seems risky," Lorrik muttered.

"Less risky than a vertical climb down into the unknown before trying to climb out upon the other side," Jresh admitted.

"But if we lose our grip on the ridge, we'll plummet into the pit anyways," Lorrik replied.

"Then don't lose your grip," Arlia plainly offered.

"She's right," Jresh added, making no attempt to assuage his companion. "But look more closely upon the right-hand ridge. There is a small ledge jutting from the side to provide ample footing. And below, another ledge should you be forced to catch yourself on an unwanted descent."

Looking over the edge, Lorrik did see a momentary respite from whatever treacherous fall awaited any who lost their grip. A small ledge, no wider than his shoulders lay at the precipice of shadows, basking in the half-darkness of the early morning sun's reach into the mysterious pit. The first ledge that rest high above it lay no wider than the width of his foot.

Lorrik granted himself one last passing view of the surrounding area, looking for any other answer, but ultimately found none. "We'll lose too much time searching for another path through the mountains. Looks like we're crossing this pit. Any objections?"

The others appeared less than thrilled with the prospect, but could offer no better plan of action.

"Anyone have any ideas on the best way to go about this?" Lorrik put forth to the group.

"This isn't a time for elaborate plans," Isorr declared. "Just put all your focus into making it across."

"We should at least establish a climbing order," Ryloh offered.

"He's right, whomever makes it across first can help the others," Lorrik stated.

"How so?" Kar'ai asked.

"Remember when we had to catch the warriors after they fell off a cliff?"

"You mean, after they got pushed off," Kar'ai added.

"Yes," Lorrik plainly stated. "If an inquisitor makes it over first they can help stabilized those following them."

"How far apart do you actually expect us to climb?" Isorr asked.

"We'll all cross at once, but the gap isn't exactly a short one," Jresh explained. "Plus, we should put enough of a distance between us all to make sure we lessen the strain on the rock."

"We'll need someone lightweight but strong, both physically and in the Force, to take the lead," Lorrik offered. "I suggest Arlia."

The purple Twi'lek offered a quick shrug of her shoulders. "Works for me."

"Really? I expected more clout," Lorrik admitted.

"I enjoy my ego stroked as much as the next Sith, but coming from you…"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Lorrik stated with a gentle waft of his hand. "I can follow afterwards. Then probably Ryloh and Kar'ai."

"What about Vurt? He's an inquisitor," Ryloh added.

"He's also arguable the most physically strong," Lorrik explained, the content Nikto standing a short distance away. "I'd suggest he and Nesk take the rear. They're likely the best climbers, but their claws could unsettle stones the rest of us would grab onto were any of us to go after them."

"So… Arlia, Lorrik, Ryloh, myself… then?" Kar'ai asked.

"Jresh and Isorr," Lorrik answered. "Their order shouldn't matter."

"He can go first," Jresh offered.

"Hrmph," Isorr grunted, showing neither agreement nor abject objection.

"Come on, the sooner we can return to our normal trek, the better," Jresh called out.

The Pureblood parted from the gathered group and made his way toward the rightward ridge, with the others following with little hesitation. Reaching the jagged wall that crossed the shadowed gap, the acolytes gazed across the far expanse with an inkling trepidation.

"How long you think it'll take to cross?" Lorrik asked with wide eyes upon the treacherous stretch.

The Pureblood narrowed his gaze as he studied the ridge. "At the pace of a careful shuffle? Maybe twenty minutes."

"Ugh," Lorrik offered.

"Haven't you tired of complaining?" Isorr asked. "We've passed physical trials far worse than this."

"Our time away from the Academy has had an effect on our bodies, whether you realize it or not," Lorrik explained. "Your body will tire and your focus will wane faster than you expect."

"Then let's start sooner rather than later," Arlia stated as she took a step toward the imposing rock. Reaching a hand up high, she grabbed a firm hold of the nearby facade. Placing a foot near her waist, she began to elevate herself upon the ridge. Ascending, the inquisitor now hugged the wall above the other acolytes' heads before she was able to place a foot on the thin ridge that stretched across the ridge. Shuffling onto the ledge, she planted the soles of her boots upon the minor extension and let out a deep breath once she was confident in her standing. "Alright. Next."

Lorrik watched as Arlia slowly began her lateral trek across the cliff-face. Following her original path of ascension, the Human took careful hold of the rocks before beginning his climb. Eventually reaching the ledge, Lorrik saw that Arlia had not yet managed to put a great deal of distance between them. Though the tiny ledge offered a footing, careful maneuvering was still required to cross the gap.

As Lorrik traversed the rocky facade, he offered a brief wave for Ryloh to follow. The second Twi'lek climbed and bade his companion to follow. Eventually, one by one, all eight acolytes found themselves shuffling along the cliff-face, the shadowy pit resting below them. Perpetually moving forward, the students refused to allow themselves pause. Hugging the wall, they were hesitant to remove themselves from the stone enough to turn their head to the chain's rear. Like clockwork they proceeded. Left hand. Left foot. Right foot. Right hand. Repeat. The acolytes concentrated on nothing but their goal at the end of the ridge. Minutes passed, and eventually, the students had reached the halfway point in the crossing.

With each step, the subtle cracks and grinding of stone against stone plagued the acolytes' ears. Plagued their minds. Dust would fall from above. Fissures, long since created, tensed the heart upon their recognition. A stone would fall. And bounce from the steep facade below them. And bounce. And bounce. Until it vanished into the consuming darkness below.

Pressing forward, the acolytes attempted to keep their minds calm. Not allowing the sights and sounds to get the better of their rational minds. In the middle of the chain, Kar'ai followed closer to Ryloh than any other two climbers. With each step, each hand movement, she focused her gaze only upon the back of the Twi'lek's head as his lekku swayed and bounced with each shuffle toward their destination. As she continued forward, she felt a sharp pain in her forearm. A stabbing. A slicing. Her mind couldn't quite place it.

"Ouch," Kar'ai let out, remarkably subdued.

"Something wrong?" Ryloh hastily asked, stopping in his tracks but not turning his head or removing his hands from the cliff-face.

"It's nothing. Probably scratched myself on a sharp rock," Kar'ai calmly explained. "Keep moving."

Ryloh immediately complied, moving his hands and feet with careful precision and the rest of his body followed. As the group continued forward, the Rattataki felt each step grow heavier and heavier. Her chest followed as her breathing slowed. Her knees weakened, and her hands and feet grew increasingly numb.

"Ryloh, I…" Kar'ai softly muttered before her eyes fluttered and her body went limp. Her hands releasing their grip, the entirety of her body began to lean away before she finally crumbled and began to slip from the ledge.

"Kar'ai!" Jresh exclaimed, looking past a silent Isorr. Immediately stopping once more and looking to his rear, Ryloh only caught the vacating glimpse of his companion falling toward the pit below. Slipping from the ledge, Kar'ai continued to unconsciously hug the cliff-face as she slid down the inclined façade.

"Kar'ai!" Ryloh screamed, barely able to articulate. With reckless abandon, the Twi'lek removed himself from the cliff-face and jumped down after her. Sliding down the ridge on his side, Ryloh raked his gloved hand upon the rocks as his other reached forward. As they descended, the inquisitor's face tensed with total effort as he tried to seize his partner with the Force slow her treacherous fall into the darkness below. Looking to the falling acolytes, Lorrik caught the attention of the nearby students.

"Keep going! You can help once you're safely across!" Lorrik shouted before letting go of the rock wall himself. Stepping off the ledge, the Human began his slide down to the descending acolytes, using his gloves and the Force to keep his plunge relatively under control. The remaining students upon the ledge complied with his wishes, and began to make their way toward the end of the ridge.

As the final acolyte, Nesk, crossed the area immediately preceding Kar'ai's fall, he happened across a darkened fissure in front of him. Emerging from the shadowy crack, a large insect covered in a jagged carapace bearing envenomed fangs lashed out from its sanctuary. With remarkable speed, the Trandoshan backed away before snatching the creature within his hand. The corrupt pest writhed and contorted its many legs in the lizard's grip. With a snarl, Nesk crushed the insect before proceeded along the path.

Sliding down the cliff, Ryloh had managed to grab ahold of Kar'ai with the Force sufficiently enough to catch up with her. Grabbing ahold of her, he wrapped his arms around her body and refused to let go. Focusing what remained of his energy, the Twi'lek tried to slow themselves enough to catch the second ledge that was fast approaching. His feet landing firmly on the shallow ledge, Ryloh let out a exasperated sigh of relief as he crumbled upon his back, Kar'ai still cradled within his arms.

Touching down upon the ledge, Lorrik stabilized himself before tending to the fallen pair. The Human offered a word to the Twi'lek who was ecstatic with his arrival. Offering his aid, Lorrik extended a hand down to the inquisitor. Ryloh put precedence on his companion, lifting her and begging Lorrik to help her. Putting one of her arms around his neck, the Human lifted the unconscious Rattataki and leaned her against the cliff-face whilst the Twi'lek raised himself.

"Is she okay? What's wrong with her? What do we do?" Ryloh barraged with an increasing concern.

Lorrik looked to the trembling inquisitor, the limp warrior, the ridge above, and the encroaching darkness that surrounding them at their lowered elevation. The Human ran a hand through his hair as he struggled to process the events taking place. Removing a glove, Lorrik placed a bare hand upon Kar'ai's forehead, feeling a remarkable heat. Closing his eyes, the inquisitor focused his thoughts as he tried to understand the situation. Looking not with his eyes, but with the Force, Lorrik came to a stark realization.

"She's dying."


	36. 2-10 Drops

**Chapter Ten: Drops**

"What'd'you mean she's dying!" Ryloh screamed through heavy breaths, physically exhausted but refusing a moment of respite. Removing his hand from the woman's forehead, Lorrik placed it instead to his chin where he became wrapped in thought.

"Her body seems to be shutting down," Lorrik struggled to explain. "I can't explain it."

"We have to do something," Ryloh pleaded.

"I know! I know!" Lorrik shot back, unable to assuage the hectic Twi'lek. "Damn it. We can't tend to her down here. We need to get back up somehow."

Without another word, Ryloh moved in front of Kar'ai and draped her arms over his shoulders, crossing them in front of his chest. Carefully, he lifted his companion from the wall and carried her upon his back, holding her as one might a slumbering child.

"Let's go. If we can make it to the end of the pit, we can climb back up together," Ryloh explained. With a confident nod, Lorrik turned toward their new destination and sped forward, taking greater risk with his speed along the wider ledge than he possibly could above.

As Nesk lastly stepped from the cliff-face onto the smooth terrain on the other side of the chasm, he joined the other four acolytes who stood upon the grounds overlooking the darkness below. Peering over the edge, the students saw Lorrik and Ryloh running in their direction on the shadowed path far below them. Reaching the end of the ledge, the two inquisitors and their afflicted warrior looked up see the amorphous figures staring back at them, offering nondescript articulations of inaudible words.

"You ready?" Lorrik hastily asked of the sweating Twi'lek. Ryloh offered an assured nod. The Human turned back toward the ridge above and shouted out. "We're coming up! Get ready!"

As Lorrik waved him over, the Twi'lek momentarily lowered Kar'ai and tried to stabilize her by his side. Still motionless, her eyes refused to open, her breaths grew further and further apart. One arm around Ryloh's shoulder, Lorrik took ahold of the other, wrapping it behind his neck. With a pair of mutual nods, the two inquisitors, sharing the burden of their fallen ally, placed their hands upon the cliff-face and began the slow ascent back up the steep facade they had once aggressively slid down.

Gritting their teeth, the two acolytes grasped at the stone with synchronized clenches of the hands. They climbed with caution. They climbed with haste. They climbed with worry. They climbed with determination. The others watched from above as the two slowly ascended with the burden of Kar'ai upon their backs. The onlookers thought to reach out, but couldn't afford any risks. Without utter coordination between all parties, any utilization of the Force between the two groups would only hamper the climbers' ascent. But those above stood at the ready. At the sign of first slip, at first fault, they were ready to thrust their arms and minds and clasp at the rising inquisitors with all their might.

Lorrik and Ryloh continued to climb in unison, their knees scratching against the unforgiving facade of the cliff, their sabers dangling and clanging against the rigid rock. As he reached for yet another clutch of an outward stone, Ryloh felt the telltale signs of the arm around his neck slipping. He stopped, as did Lorrik. Readjusting, Ryloh shifted Kar'ai's limb until it was secured. The Human turned his head to gaze upon his fellow inquisitor. An utter devotion lay present across every facet of the Twi'lek's being. His eyes narrowed with focus. His face tensed with determination. His body remained forever unyielding against whatever unforgiving elements Korriban would place in its path.

The Twi'lek's clothes were worse for wear since his controlled slide down the mountain. His companion's state was certainly worse off. Her robes were wholly stained by dust and dirt. The clothes had been tugged at and torn by the jagged rocks that struck out at her upon her descent. Her face was cut, bruised, and seemingly without life. But the spark within her had not yet been extinguished. Lorrik knew it. Ryloh knew it, even more assuredly.

Through perseverance and blind determinations, the pair eventually made it far enough up the cliff for the acolytes above to get a proper grip on Kar'ai. Reaching out, Arlia focused her mind as she lifted the burden from the inquisitors' backs with the Force. Jresh offered a steady outstretched hand in assistance. As the Rattataki floated past the threshold of the pit, Jresh instead focused his attention on the two climbers while the others gently set Kar'ai down upon the flat of the terrain a safe distance away.

Jresh kneeled over the edge of the pit, extended his physical hand to Lorrik a short distance away. Spending the last of his energy to remove a single hand from the treacherous cliff-face, he grasped ahold of his partner's hand and was promptly yanked to safety. The Human spent only a moment to catch his breath before tending to the prone Kar'ai. Jresh returned to the edge of the pit to offer the same hand to Ryloh. As the two met their equally deterministic gazes, they silently took each other's hand and put the abominable pit behind them once and for all. Taking no moment of respite, Ryloh immediately rushed past the Pureblood to witness the state of his companion.

"Now what? We have to do something!" Ryloh exclaimed.

"We can't do anything until we know exactly what happened," Lorrik regretfully stated as he examined the unconscious body. Her robes were in tatters. Her body was splotched in various points with blood likely suffered from the tumble down the jagged cliff-face. The Human studied her, looking for any indication for how to proceed.

"Venom…" Nesk knowingly supplied. Lorrik looked up for more details to see the Trandoshan make a quick jabbing and retracted motion with two of his claws. "From bug."

"What are you talking about?" Ryloh insistently asked.

"Ryloh, calm yourself," Jresh stoically advised. "Yelling isn't helping anyone. You should take this time to tend to your own wounds."

"I'm perfectly fine," Ryloh muttered. Without another word, Jresh simply demonstrated his point by softly tapping his own right shoulder. Turning his head, Ryloh saw a sizable blood stain on his robes. He puzzled for a moment, not feeling any wound, before coming to a realization.

"Lorrik! Check her right arm," Ryloh hastily advised. Complying, Lorrik removed her right glove and pushed back the sleeves of her dirtied garments. Near her elbow, there was a puncture wound on her forearm around which a virulent blackness and swelling had taken over, distinguishing itself from the Rattataki's numerous tattoos that occupied the area.

"Okay, so we know she was poisoned, what good does that do?" Isorr coldly stated.

"If we know what caused it, we might know how to counter it," Ryloh suggested.

"With what? The only way to 'counter it' out here is to suffer through it," Isorr combatted.

"Maybe if we know what stung or bit her, we can know what to expect," Ryloh hoped.

"If you're expecting anything other than death, you're fooling yourself," Isorr concluded.

"Shut up! Shutup shutup shutup!" Ryloh exclaimed.

Lorrik attempted to drown out the shouting and focus on the task at hand.

"Nesk, did you see this bug?" Lorrik asked. The Trandoshan offered an affirming nod. "Can you describe it?"

"Small but large. Fit in palm. Black. Carapaced. Furred around joints," Nesk carefully explained.

"Damn," Lorrik muttered. "I don't need to consult the datacards for this."

"You know what did this?" Jresh asked.

"I think so," Lorrik stated, solemn in his admission. "Because of the way Korriban ecology usual pans out, small creatures are typically the most dangerous given what they have to do to survive. If what I think did this, she's in for more trouble than mere paralysis."

"What do you mean?" Ryloh asked, tearing his attention away from Isorr.

"She'll survive the numbness, it's what follows that will end her," Lorrik lowly explained. "The venom first numbs the victim, eventually making them lose consciousness. Then comes pain. Pure and unbridled. For hours. For days."

"How do you know?" Ryloh worryingly asked.

"I've read about it. Sith sometimes harvest the stingers and venoms from Korriban's creatures to use on students as punishment for failure," Lorrik detailed. "Some bugs produce barbs that overload the victim's nervous system, wracking their bodies in pain. This was one of them, or an offshoot, or some alchemical deviation. Her body is so busy fighting the first stage that it won't have any way to resist the second."

"Can she survive it on her own?" Ryloh hesitantly asked.

"Unlikely," Lorrik hesitantly answered. "I can… I can attempt to heal her."

"Really?" Ryloh exclaimed with an exuberance unshared by the Human.

Jresh leaned his close to his partner, speaking at a whisper. "Lorrik… you've only mended simple flesh wounds before. Are you sure you are able to do this? There could be complications. You're already exhausted. The process could do just as much harm to both of you as good."

"I think the greater question is, since when were you able to heal people?" Arlia spoke up.

"It would explain how they've managed to keep an advantage in the recent trials," Isorr added.

"Look, the reason I didn't jump at the prospect I because all I can do is accelerate the body's natural processes," Lorrik reasoned. "Responses to illnesses included. I'd be accelerating her recovery, but exasperating the side-effects."

"Meaning she'd still be subjected to the pain the venom would normally cause," Jresh stated.

"Yes, only condensed into minutes instead of hours or days. It would literally burn out her body," Lorrik explained. "I can try to repair any damage as it is happens, but I can't do much about the pain. There's enough of a connection between bodies during the process that I might be able to absorb some of the pain into myself, but with my energy levels waning, it would only break my concentration, leaving everyone worse off than when we started."

"Then use me instead," Ryloh suggested.

Lorrik offered the soft arch of his brow. "Pardon?"

"Let me share her pain. I can take it," Ryloh admitted.

"Can you?" Isorr pointedly asked.

"I hate to admit it, but he's right. You do have the mental connection necessary to facilitate the bond, but this will likely be the most excruciating pain you've felt in your entire life," Lorrik explained.

"I don't care. If there's a chance that it will save Kar'ai, I will put my life on the line," Ryloh declared.

"Whoa, wait a minute," Arlia intruded. "I don't want to lose a member of our group, but I really don't want to lose a second, let alone a third. There's a chance all three of you don't come back from this."

"I won't force you to succumb to my selfish wants, Lorrik," Ryloh stated. "We'll only do it if you're comfortable."

Lorrik was unsure of how to proceed. He wanted nothing more than for all eight of them to return to the Academy in defiance of any who thought them incapable of the task set upon them. He wanted nothing more than to preserve Kar'ai's life. He knew the toll her death would take on Ryloh. But he also knew the risks involved. For Ryloh. For himself. His confidence in his own abilities waned, until he looked up to see the ever stoic countenance of his companion matching his gaze. With a silent, assured nod from Jresh, Lorrik had received all the confidence he needed.

"Let's do this," Lorrik stated. "Okay, I'm going to need everyone else to back up and give us some room. Ryloh, kneel by her side opposite me." The other acolytes complied, Ryloh with particular haste. "Take a hold of her hand." The Twi'lek grasped the limp hand of his companion's inflicted arm. Lorrik took hold of the opposite. Meditating, Lorrik closed his eyes and directed his focus on all the energies than flowed through Kar'ai's body. Dismay haunted the internal dialogue of the Rattataki's organic systems. They were fighting the venom coursing through her veins. Fighting. Defending. Preparing for what was to come. But without intervention, it would ultimately prove folly.

With a deep breath, the Human went to work. An aura softly radiated from the inquisitor's form, invisible to all but the Force-sensitive. But the gathered acolytes felt an increase in the surrounding pressures. The air shifted around them before drawing to a calm. With each passing second, Lorrik worked toward healing Kar'ai whilst Ryloh gazed upon her visage with a hopeful stare. Emerging from her slumber, Kar'ai drew in a heavy breath, arching her back upon the warm foundation. Ryloh let out an exasperation of joy at the wonderful sight.

"Focus!" Lorrik directed, still deeply locked in his meditative trance. Ryloh tensed up, but still refused to break his gaze from his companion's now awakened face. But where he thought he might see a sign of relief, he only saw the signs of what was to come. Kar'ai was awake, but silent. No words could escape her open mouth as her mind was just beginning to process the effects of the scourge coursing through her body. She was alive. She was aware. But such was only residing within the momentary state of being between the stages of affliction.

Where once she had arched her back to draw in her first breath of cognizance, she now found herself twitching upon the ground as her body was assaulted from within, her entire nervous system systematically under fire. Her face tensed, her teeth clenched, what had long since been a steady silence was finally broken by the first cry of pain to slip past the warrior's lips. A grunt. A whine. The mere foundation of what was to come.

Ryloh finally understood that he could do his companion no good simply offering the continuous stare of his piercing gaze. The Twi'lek closed his eyes. Focused his mind. Reached out and connected with his partner. His companion. His lover. A lightning storm was brewing in her senses, lashing out as Lorrik accelerated what would have been faced over minutes into mere seconds. The process continued.

Within moments, Ryloh found himself under siege by the tumultuous pains of his companion's body as they arced across the bond between the pair. More contortions, more debased declarations of pain assaulted the eyes and ears of the gathered acolytes who continued to watch with increasing trepidation. The process continued.

Lorrik's hands began to shake as he too succumbed to the painful intrusions of Kar'ai's affliction. He steeled his focus, devoted the entirety of his mind and body to completing the task he had set out upon. Refusing failure. Denying failure. The Human found a painful intruder battering at the gates to his psyche, all the while Ryloh and Kar'ai bared a much more intense burden. And still the process continued.

The acolytes were fighting the affliction in much the same way they were expected to fight all foes. Through sheer emotion. Sheer determination, almost to a fault. Without caution. Without cause. They had become absorbed in the Sith ideals of passions and pains, coupled with the opposing forces of selflessness and sacrifice. Ryloh clenched the hand of his companion ever tighter, leaning inward as his body was overcome with new levels of pain. With both hands he clasped Kar'ai's hand, and refused to let go, clutching the hand ever closer to his chest.

There was no song of healing to be heard that day, only the passionate cries of utter sacrifice and pain. Grunts turned to whines. Whines turned to screams. Screams that haunted the other acolytes. Never had they born witness to such sustained displeasure. There was nothing to draw upon here, no relishing the misfortune of others that the Academy had so harshly tried to implant.

The air of calm that encircled the arrangement had begun to stir. No longer was it a matter of meditation, but an utter clash of force against force. Pain against pain. Just as the affliction lashed out against their bodies, their bodies lashed out against the surrounding area. Just as a storm brewed within their racked minds, a storm was beginning to manifest around their bodies. The wind picked up, swirling with a torrent matching the emotions of the three acolytes.

The onlookers covered their eyes as more and more dust was kicked up. They covered their ears as more and more screams permeated the air. The chaos grew and grew until it encompassed the entire area. Even the most stalwart of the acolytes could not fully resist the brewing calamity, crouching as the winds and cries reached their peak. The other students struggled to continue watching, until suddenly… calm. Silence.

The winds had died. The sounds had died. The three acolytes, revealed as the sand and dust settled from their airborne trajectories, each lay upon the flat of their backs, their grips on one another released, their bodied stilled and unmoving.


	37. 2-11 Strengths

**Chapter Eleven: Strengths**

Five acolytes looked on with uncertainty at the scene of peaceful chaos. Three of their compatriots now laid prone against the hard flat of the Korriban terrain. A stillness permeated the air, the senses, that threatened to suffocate the onlookers as they contemplated on how to proceed. Jresh was the first to break the stillness, stepping from the group to check on his companion. With haste, the Pureblood rushed toward the fallen acolytes before sliding to his partner's side.

"Lorrik!" Jresh called out as he carefully lifted the back of Lorrik's head with his palm. "Lorrik, can you hear me? Say something!"

With a stir, Lorrik returned to consciousness, his eyes widely panning across his perspective. Confused. Disoriented. The Human took deep breaths before succumbing to furious coughing fits as he felt a sharp sting within his chest. Eventually, the coughs became sparse as the inquisitor's status conformed to merely a slight daze.

"Lorrik, are you okay?"

"How are the others?" Lorrik struggled to ask through a slight wheeze.

"One thing at a time. Are you okay?" Jresh returned to his questioning.

"I'm… fine," Lorrik admitted. "Just tired. Check the others, I'll be okay."

Softly laying his companion's head upon the ground, Jresh watched as Lorrik relaxed against the cold dirt with a smile on his face. Shuffling across the ground, the Pureblood skirted around Kar'ai's legs to check on Ryloh. The Twi'lek's visage expressed no indicators toward either life nor death. Lowering his head to Ryloh's chest, Jresh was relieved to feel the slight rise and fall of the acolyte's chest as he drew in and exhaled a series of minute breaths. The inquisitor was alive, but just that, offering no display of conditions beyond the basest of life signs. Though he couldn't say if Ryloh was 'okay', he decided the student in a satisfactory enough a state to move his attention to Kar'ai.

Circling around the Twi'lek, the Pureblood addressed the body of the originally afflicted. Laying his head to the Rattataki's chest, Jresh was troubled when he couldn't detect the warrior drawing in even the slightest of breaths. The Pureblood's gaze began to quickly dart up and down the fallen acolyte's body as he struggled to proceed. Looking to the original point of intrusion by the venomous creature, the wound now appeared remarkably clean, only the barest of remnants revealing what had occurred. Mere indentations of the skin, unmarred by the pollution and corrupting blackness that had surrounded it earlier.

Taking ahold of Kar'ai's wrist, Jresh turned it slightly side to side in examination. Her skin had not yet lost its warmth. Pressing upon her wrist, Jresh searched for a pulse of any kind. Suddenly, he felt movement. However, instead of the subtle beat of a working heart, her entire body began to move beneath his touch. Her once afflicted arm twisted itself to grasp the hand currently holding it. With remarkable speed, the Rattataki shot up from the flat of her back.

"Ryloh!" Kar'ai passionately shouted as she returned to life, her gaze longingly affixed upon the figure grasping her hand. It took only a moment for her expression to drop its splendor as she struggled to understand her current situation. "Jresh? Where am I? What's going on?"

"You were bitten or stung by a particularly deadly creature whilst making your way across the pit," Jresh calmly explained. "You fell unconscious and… well, fell. Ryloh jumped to your rescue, and Lorrik followed soon after."

"Ryloh, where is he?" Kar'ai insistently asked, slowly regaining her vigor. Panning her head across the immediate scene, he instantly saw Lorrik laying upon the ground to her left. Looking beyond the warrior at her side, she saw her companion also prone upon the hard dirt. The Rattataki immediately struggled to raise herself despite not fully regaining control of her muscles. "Ryloh!"

"Don't worry. He's okay. Just tired. Same with Lorrik," Jresh stoically explained. "He managed to heal you, but the process was tolling for your body. Ryloh offered himself to share some of your pain. All three of you will recover in time. Be thankful for that."

"Pain? I don't… remember…"

"Great, only her brain was fried by the ordeal," Isorr harshly offered from the sidelines.

"The experience was harrowing to witness, and far far worse to actually experience. Your bodies… as well as your minds, will need time to recover," Jresh calmly explained.

"Time? Every moment we waste out here only serves to our detriment," Isorr bluntly stated. "Should have just let her tough it out. Now we're down three acolytes instead of only one."

"Three living acolytes as opposed to one possibly dead one," Jresh sternly countered as he stood from his tending position.

"It wouldn't have even been a point of concern were she simply stronger," Isorr coldly stated. "We've been trained to power through such ailments. But she needed the aid of two others to survive."

"She might have survived on her own. We simply went with the option that offered a more assured outcome," Jresh explained.

"You call that assured? Even Lorrik didn't believe in the integrity of his own plan."

"I believed in him. And he in turn trusted that belief. There was never a doubt in my mind that he would succeed."

"Then you are as foolish as the Twi'lek. The weakling was unable to withstand levels of pain so insignificant Kar'ai doesn't even remember it."

"We all witnessed what took place during the healing process, you can't possibly believe-"

"Don't… you call… my partner… a weakling!" Kar'ai systematically threatened as she raised and steadied herself. Slowly, she took a step toward the sneering Zabrak. Then another. Her feet impacted hard against the dirt with each firm stomp of her boot. "I don't know… exactly what happened… but I know enough… to know that Ryloh is strong. That we… are strong!"

With a slow but assured dedication she trudged toward the leering Zabrak one step at a time. As she neared him, the foundation of that dedicated began to warp and shatter as her body refused to keep up with her spirit. Kar'ai stumbled and fell to her knees, her hands furiously clenching into fists as she struggled to keep her arms a rigid support between herself and the unforgiving ground.

Isorr look upon the fallen Rattataki with disgust. "Such a pitiful display. The weak should know their place."

His eyes affixed on the struggling acolyte, the Zabrak failed to notice the fast-approaching Pureblood to his side. Diverting his gaze, Isorr only caught the brief glimpse of a red blur before he felt the powerful impact of Jresh's fist against his cheek. The force of the blow sent the Zabrak spinning toward the ground before he caught himself at the last moment.

"For once we agree on something," Jresh sternly declared.

"What do you think you're-" Isorr, upon his knees, managed to get out before finding the Pureblood's boot being driven hard into his face. Falling upon his shoulder, Isorr let out a quick grunt as he impacted against the hard terrain. Despite being forced to the ground after two harsh blows, the Zabrak appeared more mildly annoyed than properly injured, rotating his jaw as he gritted his teeth.

"You think yourself strong? You think yourself the embodiment of Sith?" Jresh asked, not desiring an answer. As Isorr tried to stand, Jresh offered another kick to the other warrior's chest sending him downward and back. "You think you understand strength? Tell me. Tell me what is strength!"

"You dare-" Isorr muttered through a snarl before being silence by another intrusion of the Pureblood's fist. Rolling upon the dirt, the Zabrak attempted to put some distance between himself and his aggressor, unknowing inching back toward the edge of the cliff.

Jresh pursued the retreating warrior, casting his cold glare. "Strength is power. The ability to bring about change. You think of strength as a source. But what is the source of strength?"

Sufficiently annoyed with the Pureblood, Isorr drew and ignited his training saber. Refusing to halt his approach, Jresh sidestepped a downward swing of the warrior's weapon. As the tip embedded itself into the terrain, Jresh lifted his foot before stomping into the broad of the blade, forcing his opponent to release his grip on it. With a powerful kick, the Pureblood sent the saber flying past its previous wielder. Isorr watched with dismay as it bounced against the dirt a few times before plummeting over the edge and into the vast pit that lay behind him.

Drawing his own saber, Jresh held it firmly by the handle as he refused to tear his stern gaze away from his opponent. Isorr puzzled for a moment when the Pureblood decided to not brandish and ignite the weapon, but forcefully toss it behind him. The saber slid across the ground and eventually came to a stop at the feet of the standing acolytes who had no interest in directly intervening in the conflict. The weapon lying closest to her feet, Arlia subtly lowered herself and retrieved the saber.

Moving forward with a primal surge, Isorr attempted to take control of the conflict as he delivered a furious blow toward his aggressor. His fist impacted against Jresh's gut to no ill effect. Following up with another punch, the Zabrak struck the other warrior's face. The Pureblood's head turned along with the strike, but promptly returned to affix it's cold gaze to the retreating warrior. Implacable, Jresh continued his assault, driving Isorr back to the ground with a flurry of punches and kicks.

"Do you know where I draw my strength?" Jresh asked. "I find strength in compassion. I find strength in sacrifice. I find strength in my allies. You? You have only yourself to draw upon. And it is sufficiently lacking."

Isorr shuffled along the ground for only a few moments before he found himself caught between the edge of the cliff and the continually approaching warrior. Lashing out wildly for one final stand, the Zabrak failed to connect any meaningful blows before the Pureblood was fully upon him.

Grasping the fallen warrior's throat, Jresh lifted Isorr off the ground and on his feet. "The only thing you believe in is yourself. Are you so assured in your narcissism that you think yourself greater than any other? Think yourself above cooperation? Then you'll surely find a way out of your current predicament. After all we've been trained to power through such things."

Raising the hefty warrior even further, Jresh managed to lift Isorr until his feet hovered a short distance from the ground. Taking a step toward the edge, Jresh now firmly held his opponent over the shadowed depths of the pit they once struggled to cross. The other four acolytes, including the recovering Kar'ai and Isorr's own partner Arlia, had slowly approached the pair to witness what was to follow.

"You think reliance on others is weakness? You put the entirety of your faith in yourself, and have failed. You no longer hold control of your own life. Your fate is in my hands. Our hands. When we began, we agreed to cooperate. But you've remained adamant in your isolation. When we were on the cliff, you were directly behind Kar'ai. Your eyes could not have been affixed on anything but the path in front of you. You saw her falter. You saw her fall. And you did nothing. Because you are selfish. Because you are afraid. You are concerned only with yourself, not because you believe in your strength, but because you believe others will only drag you down. But guess what? Others can also lift you up."

Isorr was unable to articulate with his throat being slowly crushed within the powerful grip of the domineering Pureblood.

"Surely you realize the only thing that could prevent your death would be if someone protested me dropping you over this abyssal precipice," Jresh coldly explained. "And surely you realize that the only person that would genuinely offer that protest is Lorrik, who currently rests upon the ground where he lent his strength to someone you thought expendable. You have nothing to offer me or this group, so I have no qualms of ending you. You haven't earned the slightest bit of respect or companionship with your partner Arlia, either. She is strong. She currently holds in her hands my weapon and hers. And yet she refuses to step forward to alter these proceedings. Not out of a fear of me. But out of an utter apathy toward preserving your life. Because you offer nothing in return to any who would permit you the barest of decencies. We can replace your knowledge. We can replace your strength. There is absolutely nothing preventing me from damning you to the depths of this pit."

Reaffirming his grip on Isorr's neck, Jresh turned upon his heels and slammed the Zabrak upon the ground beside him.

"Which is why you should be grateful for my mercy," Jresh stoically offered as he walked away from the beaten warrior. Intending to return to Lorrik's side, Jresh found his path impeded by Arlia who stood before him, bearing his training saber. With a flick of her wrist, she turned it over in her hand, offering it back to its owner. Jresh met Arlia's gaze with his own before speaking. "I have no need for it. You keep it."

With slight trepidation, the Twi'lek affixed the second saber to her belt, before looking upon the beaten countenance of her partner. Isorr lay sitting upon the ground near the edge of the cliff, slowly breathing through a series of cautious wheezes. His fist supporting the weight of his body against the ground, the warrior's gaze was affixed upon the dirt below him. He stared with an intense ferocity as his facial muscles involuntarily twitched. Kar'ai and the others had already begun their return to Lorrik and Ryloh, leaving only Arlia to gaze upon the fallen warrior. With a condemning shake of her head, she too abandoned her partner.

Isorr found himself alone, only the whistling winds and echoes of rocks crackling in the pit below to keep him company.


	38. 2-12 Departures

**Chapter Twelve: Departures**

Lorrik awoke upon the flat of his back gazing toward the brightening Korriban sky. His field of view was sufficiently limited however, as the visage of Jresh looking over him took up much of his sight.

"How long have I been out?" Lorrik asked, slightly embarrassed.

"Not long," Jresh immediately answered.

"I miss anything exciting?" Lorrik joked.

"I held Isorr by the throat and threatened to drop him of a cliff," Jresh stated, completely deadpan.

"And they say you don't have a sense of humor," Lorrik replied, forcing a chuckle as he rested on the ground. Without a word, Jresh motioned to his rear with a quick jut of his thumb. Raising himself the inquisitor looked past his companion to see Isorr sitting near the edge of the pit alone a short distance away. "Oh. He okay?"

"Hard to say," Jresh admitted. Looking to his right, the Human saw Ryloh still laying prone nearby, Kar'ai kneeling by his side.

"He okay?" Lorrik repeated.

"Hard to say," Jresh repeated.

"Damn," Lorrik softly muttered as he fell back to the ground. Letting out a hard exhale, the inquisitor placed his hands behind his head and gazed longingly toward the Korriban sky. "What are we going to do?"

"Continue?" Jresh offered.

"Think we can?"

"Of course."

"You really think Isorr won't take your beating personally?"

"I hope he does," Jresh confidently stated. "I know a thing or two about how the other warriors operate. I wouldn't have taken such actions without a plan."

"Jresh has learned the art of manipulation. No one is safe," Lorrik offered with a chuckle.

"Try and get Ryloh ready for travel. I'll go talk to Isorr," Jresh said as he parted from his companion.

Letting out another sigh, Lorrik stirred from his grounded position as he turned his attention toward Ryloh. Walking back toward a defeated Isorr, the Pureblood ignored the passing glances and stares from the other acolytes that stood between them. The Zabrak looked up from his emotional stagger to see his aggressor looming over him with his stalwart figure. Narrowing his focus, Isorr saw the Jresh had already extended his hand, silently asking the defeated warrior to raise himself with it.

"I neither need nor want your help," Isorr muttered, his voice not yet fully returning to him.

"You can take my hand, or you can receive my fist. The choice is yours," Jresh offered. Isorr reaffirmed his gaze and locked eyes with his aggressor. Silence, broken only by the Zabrak heavy breaths, followed. The two warriors remained fully separated, physically and emotionally. But the Pureblood refused to withdraw his hand. "This is what being a Sith is to you? Unable to deal with defeat? This isn't the Isorr I knew back at the Academy."

The Zabrak's face twisted and contorted as he struggled to vocalize his thoughts. "Shut up. Who are you to talk about what being a Sith is?"

Jresh replied only with the stoic circular wafting of his hand over his crimson-skinned visage.

Isorr let out a snide growl as he regretfully wiped his face with the palm of his hand. "This isn't what I thought apprenticeship would be like…"

"We're not apprentices yet," Jresh calmly stated. "Not until we get back to the Academy. So take my hand and let's get back on our path."

"Our path? There is no 'our path'. Each Sith must follow their own path. That path might occasionally align with others and intersect with them at fixed points, but they never merge."

Jresh reaffixed his gaze upon the sulking warrior. "And who taught you that?"

"No one," Isorr admitted. "It is the base for all the Sith teaching dating back hundreds and thousands of years."

"The Sith are dynamic. That is what truly separates us from the Jedi. With each generation, with each battle, with each conflict… we adapt. We change our ways to better facilitate our success. It behooves a Sith to be selfish in their rise to power because they eventually encounter a Sith whose selfishness and power supersedes their own, who hopes to keep them down. The Sith rise. Only the weak seek to prevent ascension. Only the scared. Only the selfish. Tradition has held us back. The Academy has held us back. Syrosk has held us back. If you truly respect the Sith, prove it. Don't align and dedicate yourself to the musings of dead masters and tyrants. Dedicate yourself to the Code. Derive your wants and desires from that, not from the wants and desires of other Sith."

"And yet you expect me to take your hand."

"Because we are not Sith out here. We are not acolytes. We are survivors. We are men and women who have been deceived. Together we can survive. Together can find answers. That is something we all want and desire, even you. Once we return and become apprentices, it is fully up to you how you wish to proceed. You can separate yourself, betray us, combat us, do whatever you feel is required for you to become Sith. I expect you to. But for now… take my hand."

Isorr's nose twitched as he processed his opponent's words. Which a heavy sigh, he succumbed to the Purebloods musings, agreeing to cooperate. Slowly, the Zabrak began to raise himself from the ground without the aid of the Pureblood. He was quickly interrupted.

Jresh thrust his hand in front of the stalled warrior. "I said, you can take my hand or receive my fist. If you refuse my help, I will continue to drive you to the ground until you accept it."

Begrudgingly, Isorr took ahold of the other warrior's hand and raised himself from the dirt. Standing in front of one another, the two warriors locked eyes, sharing cold glares. The two remained locked in their stances, refusing to break away from one another. Suddenly, Isorr drove his fist into the cheek of his once opponent. The punch impacting hard against the Pureblood's cheek and Jresh stumbled for a moment as he reeled from the blow. Returning to his upright stance, the struck warrior offered a hearty chuckle.

"Where was that fire when you were dangling off a cliff?" Jresh offered before turning back to the gathering of acolytes a short distance away, walking off with a hearty gait. Isorr stared at the back of the implacable Pureblood as he returned to the other acolytes, his eyes narrowing, his mouth releasing yet another sigh.

* * *

As the early day's sun hovered upon the Academy's exterior, Darth Tash walked, almost hovering with splendor, as he made his way back toward his transport. Trailing in his path, one of the instructors within his dominion walked a respectful distance behind him. The two figures walked, one head held high, one kept dutifully lowered. Reaching the landing pad where his shuttle off world resided, the dark lord turned to face his lackey whom immediately straightened his stance and offering his master the level of attention he so rightfully deserves.

"My lord, it would seem all of your affairs and assets are in impeccable order," the instructor dutifully stated, the trailing Human finding momentary confidence.

"It would seems so," Darth Tash softly admitted. "Syrosk has suffered and waned, even since his return to Korriban, confirming his status as a non-threat. However…"

"Yes, my lord?"

"I must admit I am intrigued by the news of Syrosk's students. Eight acolytes plucked from my crop, serving whatever plans the alien currently finds himself partaking in."

"I'm sure they're of no threat to you or your plans, my lord."

"Oh? Is that so? Even when one of them was capable of tricking you into allowing them access to the classroom and single-handedly defeating a number of your students?"

"I am dreadfully sorry, my lord, I didn't recognize the acolyte. He said he was serving a Sith Lord and I was felt open defiance was counter intuitive with your plans. You told us not to do anything to upset the Sith of the true Academy."

"I find no fault with your actions. That was in the past, which no longer concerns me. In the present, Syrosk is still of no concern, but his students… I don't expect you to have felt it, but deep within the wastes there was a flicker, a ripple in the Force. Lasting only a moment, but I noticed it fully."

"Do you think it was them? There could have been a number of causes."

"It lacked the inherent darkness held by the usual flares offered by Sith Lords and the various tombs that populate the land. It was unique. Something new. It matters not how far Syrosk has fallen if his students are able to continue his schemes."

"Could such a weak master produce apprentices that are a sufficient threat?"

"Syrosk and his master may not have been the most powerful, but they were resourceful. I'll need you and the others to keep a close eye on them once I'm gone and Syrosk has recalled them from their hiding place."

The instructor offered a dutiful nod. "Shall we operate as usual?"

"Enough time has passed. Syrosk has a rapport with the Academy, but his students do not. They no longer possess the sanctum of my domain, nor the Academy at large. They are no longer protected by the same set of rules the other acolytes. Proceed accordingly."

"Might you have any plans for them?"

"Assuming they survive the coming months… of course."


	39. 2-13 Maladies

**Chapter Thirteen: Maladies**

Ryloh stirred from his slumber to find the other acolytes patiently gathered around him, his companion directly by his side. Confused and disoriented, he felt solace in the presence of his partner and his allies, even Isorr who stood with his arms crossed a short distance away. Slowly, the Twi'lek rose from the ground and dusted himself off as all eyes fell upon him. Slowly regaining his vigor, the inquisitor was determined to press forth without further delay.

There were few words to be shared between the acolytes, for there was little to be said. The eight students had come to an inherent understanding. They realized that they all traveled along a singular path, that their fates were now connected and intertwined by more than just the meddling of their superiors. A physical, emotional, and spiritual connection resonated between the eight acolytes. And once everyone was assured of each individual's well-being, the group set out once more to return to the Academy. Toward answers. Toward fate.

Jresh took to the forefront of the traveling pack, ever confident in his navigational skills as he blazed the path across the harsh Korriban terrain. The abominable pit behind them, what rest in front of the acolytes was simply a maddening stretch of lightly jagged plains. And so the eight students marched, for a simple trudge would do them no good. They had their eyes set upon one singular goal, and knew in their hearts that they would see it fulfilled. For all of them. So they marched, and marched, and marched.

"How much longer do you think it will be until we reach the Academy?" Lorrik asked his companion.

"It all depends on any further complications. But I think if we can keep our pace, we may be able to return by tomorrow night," Jresh explained.

"Good. Good. I was thinking we should make camp early tonight and start early tomorrow. After the ordeal, I don't think Kar'ai and Ryloh will be good to travel through the night."

"How about you? Are you holding up?" Jresh calmly asked.

"I luckily managed to mitigate myself throughout the process to some degree. Still, even sensing what they were going through was… difficult," Lorrik admitted.

"We felt it ourselves as we watched. Externally, it was quite a display. The world around you seemed to take notice of your actions. A fine display of Force prowess."

"Well, thank you, but that likely had more to do with Ryloh and Kar'ai's reaction to the experience. You put a Force-sensitive through something traumatic like that… something is bound to manifest," Lorrik stated.

"You think it will have any lasting effects?" Jresh asked.

"I don't know. Kar'ai seems to have made a full recovery. Ryloh seems a bit sluggish, but then again, maybe he's just at peace with his partner being safe."

"Do you think it had any effect on you?"

"Physically? No."

"Mentally?" Jresh asked.

Lorrik hesitated. "In the beginning, I can honestly say I had no idea what I was doing. I was afraid of what would happen if we did nothing… afraid of what would happen if I did do something. I was hesitant. I was unsure. I couldn't believe in myself. But then… you gave me a sign that washed away all those things. A simply nod of the head. All that time I couldn't believe in myself, and all it took was a simple gesture from you."

"You have sufficient knowledge and power resting within you. If all you ever needed was the occasional push in the right direction, you'll find no complaints from me. I've seen acolytes with far greater debilitations."

"I guess I should be thankful."

"You needn't be," Jresh firmly stated. "You've long since earned my respect. You've nothing to prove to me, and I've nothing to prove to you. At this juncture, we are together. It is our duty to lend one another a hand, to lift them when they fall, to push them when they stall. To believe in one another. I am confident in our ability to fulfill that duty."

The Human let out a soft chuckle. "This place really has screwed us up. Your Sith brain won't even let you realize that you just defined friendship."

Jresh set his eyes upon the horizon alongside his usual stoic visage. Letting out another chuckle, Lorrik turned his attention to the trailing acolytes. They walked in their usual pairings, but occasionally would separate and reconvene, intermingling with their fellow students. The Human witnessed Kar'ai break away from her companion, leaving Ryloh by his lonesome. Patting Jresh on the shoulder, Lorrik quickly directed himself to the rear of the group where the male Twi'lek walked.

"Ryloh, holding up okay?" Lorrik asked, voice soft and warm.

"Yeah… yeah. Just trying to get back into the swing of things," Ryloh sluggishly explained.

"Kar'ai seems to be doing well," Lorrik stated, looking over to see the Rattataki engaging Arlia in conversation, Isorr walking a short distance them.

"Yeah, I'm glad."

Looking upon the other inquisitor, Lorrik saw Ryloh's face momentarily wince as he struggled to return to a norm. "Something wrong?"

"I have a confession to make…" Ryloh whispered as the Human gave him his full attention. "During the… ordeal, I attempted something."

"What?"

"I just… I just wanted to save Kar'ai from… from, I don't know," Ryloh struggled to explain.

"Slowly, tell me what happened," Lorrik directed, his voice losing some of its previous warmth.

"Back at the Academy, I studied a number of Force applications. I always knew I'd be too weak to summon lightning or move unmovable objects. But the one field I thought I could do, involved manipulation of the mind."

"Please tell me this isn't something I don't want to hear," Lorrik muttered, the warmth all but gone from his tone.

"I didn't know what effect the pain would have on Kar'ai. I wanted to make things easier for her. I thought… I thought I could erase the memory of the pain. Make her forget she suffered."

"You didn't…"

The Twi'lek shook his head. "You're right. I didn't. I tried peeking into her mind, but I couldn't focus. I instead managed to make myself a lightning rod for the pain she was experiencing."

"You meant to ease the pain, but ended up taking in all of it…" Lorrik said, almost in disbelief. "That's horrible! We have to stop. You need time to recover. That much sensory overload should have killed you."

"I'm… fine."

"No, you're not. What you've experienced, your mind and body shouldn't have been able to withstand it."

"It's because of Kar'ai. I knew, deep in my heart, that every moment I suffered, meant she didn't have to. She needs to be in peak condition. I don't. Now please, she's coming back, and I'd rather not have her know about this right now. I don't want her to worry."

Lorrik stared at his fellow inquisitor with conflicting emotions. He knew Kar'ai deserved to know what Ryloh did for her, but he couldn't risk the formation of anything resembling a rift at this juncture. Something inside the Twi'lek remained broken, something Lorrik couldn't fix, regardless of confidence or skill. Assuming it needed a fix in the first place. The Human knew he was capable of sacrifice, and would almost assuredly offer his mind and body should they be require for the sake of his companion. But still he remained unsure, of so many things.

"Hey, Lorrik," Kar'ai called out. "You do good work. You'd never know I passed out and fell down a cliff if it weren't for my robes. You have our thanks. Isn't that right Ryloh?"

"Heh, of course it is," Ryloh added, now seemingly unaffected by any internal malady. Lorrik flashed a half-genuine smile and offered a wave of his hand as he made his way back toward the front of the group.

'You do good work'. The words repeated in the inquisitor's mind. He wondered, could he have done things better? Ryloh was in his current situation because he knew of no other way to heal Kar'ai. He blamed himself. For all the good he'd done in uniting the acolytes, he felt he had a hand in every disaster that befell them amongst the wastes of Korriban.

Lorrik once again walked by his companion's side. Looking over, Jresh saw a melancholy in the Human's visage. He thought to speak, but sensed it was not a time for words. Instead, he offered a brief, but comforting hand upon Lorrik's shoulder. The two had their eyes set upon the stretching landscape in front of them. Slowly, the inquisitor lifted from his low state. He couldn't stop now. Hardship was the lifeblood of the Sith. Solutions came with knowledge, and so, he would acquire that knowledge. Rather than dwell on mistakes or missed opportunities, Lorrik set his gaze upon the horizon. Toward the future. There he would stand high, with Jresh by his side.


	40. 2-14 Shadows

**Chapter Fourteen: Shadows**

Night fell on the acolytes. They suffered a full day's march and were ready to carry on into the darkness, but under the protests of Lorrik, they opted for an early retirement with an early rise the next morning. Sitting around the flame of the planted hand torch, the acolytes dug into their reserves of food rations. Sharing the bits of dwindling bricks with one another, the dismay of taste was fast being coupled with a dismay of lost motivations. The acolytes knew they were closer than ever to the Academy. They knew they were on the right course. But something itched at the back of their minds. None thought to vocalize their concern. Instead, they welcomed the silence of night along with its comforts.

With the next rising of the Korriban sun, the acolytes found themselves renewed and invigorated. The usual heat of the blasted landscape had not yet permeated their being, but the fire brewing in their hearts was unquenchable. Nesk and Vurt stretched their limbs and flexed their muscles coupled with their usual contradicting expressions. Isorr was bickering with Arlia, trying to procure one of her two training sabers, signaling a return to normalcy. Kar'ai had fully recovered and was full of energy, with Ryloh showing little signs of malady. Jresh was, of course, ready and able to proceed and Lorrik would continue to follow him at his side.

The group set out under the early morning skies, walking behind the staunch Pureblood that traversed across the cracked plains before them. For hours they walked, continuously and without pause. They had surpassed the petty threats the wilds could offer. They had succeeded hunger and thirst. Their minds and bodies were sustained by their destination. They were driven by the idea of being driven. Such was the way of the Sith. Passing over an extended flatland, the group's leader captured the attention of his fellow acolytes.

"I believe that mountain range in the distance borders the Academy," Jresh spoke up. "Looks like we'll be home by the day's end."

The gathered students vocally emoted their pleasure with the news. Cheers and warm faces emerged from even the more reserved acolytes. Revitalized once more, the students picked up their pace, traversing the empty plains with a bounce in their step. Through all the exuberance and jocularity, it was a moment before any had heard the harrowing crack of dirt and stone beneath their feet.

Looking to the ground, Lorrik and Jresh watched as the cracked terrain growled and shifted, fissures spreading and widening under their boots. Just as the floor was about to give way, the two acolytes at the head of the pack met their gazes for an instant before turning to their allies behind them. As the ground beneath them buckled, they stretched their arms out in front of them, sending out a combined Force wave that sent the other acolytes tumbling backwards and away from the growing chasm that Lorrik and Jresh found themselves slipping into.

Not a moment after granting their allies safety, the two students disappeared into the abyss, producing a loud thud as they impacting against the rock a short distance below. The chasm opened further and further before ceasing in front of the other six students. The acolytes steadied and reorganized themselves as they peered over the edge of the newly created pit. Looking into the chasm, the other two students were plainly visible upon the base of what appeared to be a subterranean cave system. The chamber was several meters deep, but the drop appeared to be more of a nuisance to the Sith compared to the previous pit.

"You have got… to be kidding me," Lorrik muttered from his back, gazing beyond the created fissure toward the Korriban sky. "I am officially… sick of this planet!"

Raising himself without a word, Jresh panned the chamber for any important details. The folded coat filled with belongings that had been secured to the warrior's waist jostled and rattled, but no signs of damaged goods emanated from within. Looking up, he saw the other acolytes staring down upon them. The pair could reasonably climb out, but the sides of the cave were less forgiving than the ridge they had previously crossed.

"You guys okay?" Kar'ai shouted into the caves.

"Yeah," Lorrik shouted back with a fair dose of discontent.

Jresh scanned his surroundings with an increasing haste. "Lorrik, we shouldn't linger. I don't see any particularly easy way out."

The Pureblood's advisement was cut short by a thunderous roar emanating from the deep shadows beyond one of the large tunnels that led to the chamber they found themselves in. Shooting up from his grounded position, Lorrik locked eyes with his companion as they shared a moment of silence.

"Lorrik?"

The Human's legs began to tremble as his eyes widened. "I thought this might have been a shyrack cave… but that howl wasn't nearly high-pitched enough. Don't see any signs of k'lor'slug infestation."

"I'd rather not wait and find out," Jresh admitted. "Come over here, I should be able to give enough of a boost to get you out."

A look of worry washed over the inquisitor's face. "What about you?"

"I'm sure I can just jump out."

"You're good… but not that good. Your body's not operating at its peak."

Another howl resonated throughout the chamber, louder and closer than before. Shaken by the deafening sound, the acolytes were forced to cover their ears. When the torment has ceased, the two students had looked up to see a figure emerge from the shadows. A giant beast, walking upon two legs. A creature of claws and spines. A creature of corruption. A creature of death. Something far worse than Lorrik's nightmares.

A terentatek slowly revealed itself as it stepped into the sunlit chamber. The hunched monstrosity inched closer with each heavy step, the spines protruding from its back almost grazing the ceiling. Bearing its claws and its tusked jowls, the monster was fully aware of the acolytes' presence.

"We need to get out! NOW!" Lorrik exclaimed.

"And then what?" Jresh asked, stilled and focused, his gaze coldly affixed on the approaching creature. "You think we can escape a creature of this caliber?"

"We can try! What, would you rather fight it?"

The Pureblood sharpened his gaze, unwilling to removing them from the approaching beast. "We're here. We might as well."

"This isn't a matter of challenge or pride, it's-"

Two soft thuds rang out to the pair's left. Momentarily rending their gaze from the dark monster, the acolytes saw that Nesk and Vurt had leapt down from above.

"Can't let it have prize to itself," Nesk snarled, brandishing his training saber, his silent companion doing the same. Another two thuds followed as Kar'ai and Ryloh joined them.

"Can't allow our guide and healer to get eaten, now can we?" Kar'ai said with a smirk as she drew her weapon, Ryloh supplying an assured nod as he did the same.

The terentatek let out yet another resounding roar as it fast approached the acolytes with its lumbering gait. Charging down upon them, the students scattered as the monster offered a wide swing of its toxic claws. Diving out of the way, the sharp and heavy hand impacted only against a nearby stalagmite, utterly shattering it. Lashing out at the twisted creature, Nesk let out a savage flurry of blows against the monstrosity's arm to little avail before its backhand sent him flying across the chamber.

Unable to focus its attention on all of the students, the acolytes surrounded the terentatek, striking with the ignited arrays of their training sabers. The weapons did little in the way of lasting damage, but left a series of scorch marks across the creature's thickened hide. The terentatek swung its arms out wide and let out a deafening roar, knocking the gathered students back with sheer force alone.

Jresh recovered with lightning speed and approached the creature without weapons nor fear. With only his fists, the Pureblood struck against the monster, searching for a soft spot in its plating. He found none, but refused to relent. With each punch, he channeled the Force, sending a shockwave out and through the terentatek's hide. The creature resisted the effect, but it was enough to attract its undivided attention. Lashing out at the insignificant Pureblood, Jresh proved nimble enough to outmaneuver it's blows, dodging, sidestepping, sliding beneath the creature's legs. Looking up, he saw Arlia and Isorr continue to watch from the edge above.

"I guess we should help them out," Arlia softly stated.

"I think you'll better understand my desire for a weapon right about now," Isorr replied.

With a dip of her head, the Twi'lek unhooked a saber and passed it to her partner. Each with a weapon at the ready, Arlia was the first to leap into the foray below. Ever the nimble fighter, Arlia struck out at the creature before dodging its ensuing blows. As the creature focused on the dexterous acolytes, the powerhouses lashed out with all their might upon the terentatek's exposed figure. Once more, Jresh looked to the edge above to see Isorr casting his typical glare down upon the violent proceedings. With a cold grin, the lone Zabrak stepped away from the chasm until he disappeared from view.

Jresh returned his attention to the monster just in time to be struck with the brunt of its hand across his chest, knocking him to the ground. As the monster readied another shattering roar, a dark figure flew across the exposed sky above with a mighty leap. Landing upon the beast's back, Isorr grasped a firm hold of the creature's spines. The terentatek lashed out by shaking its entire body, trying to loosen the insect from its back. Moving erratically, Isorr leapt from the creature's back as he ran its head into one of the chamber walls.

"Good of you to join us," Jresh muttered as he lifted himself from the ground.

"Shut up. Let's just kill this thing," Isorr said as he raised his saber.

"Right. Lorrik!" Jresh shouted out.

"Yeah?" Lorrik shouted back, genuinely exasperated.

"Get everyone line up against that wall!" Jresh directed, pointing to the surface behind his companion. Not needing an explanation, the Human offered a nod of his head as he shouted to the other acolytes. As the others vacated the area around the beast, Jresh charged forward, Isorr closely behind him. "That applied to you as well."

"I know. Don't care," Isorr curtly replied, prompting a soft chuckle from the Pureblood.

Sharing the terentatek's attention, they lashed out with a series of blows, Jresh hitting the creature low as Isorr circled around it. Together, they drove the creature toward the wall opposite the other acolytes. With a primal howl, the monster charged the warriors, who deftly stepped aside, allowing the creature to slam itself against the nearby cavern wall.

Recovering quickly, the terentatek turned to see the intruders standing in a line, side by side, their intense gazes beating down upon it. In unison, they raised their hands and stretched them outright. The air in the caverns shifted as the acolytes slowly and deliberately clenched their fingers. The monster took a step toward the organized pack, but found its movement snared. Each further step edged its body less and less close to the acolytes. A force was wrapping around the creature. Overwhelming it. Penetrating it. The focused minds of eight acolytes began crushing the terentatek with the manifestations of their spirits.

The terentatek was strong. But the acolytes were stronger. As every facet, every fold, every inch of battered hide was encapsulated and consumed with the crushing force, the power seeping deeper and deeper within the creature's innards. Its hide was sturdy, capable of resisting remarkable damage. Its innards were resilient, sculpted by the dark working of the Sith of old. But it could not defend against the combined might of these eight acolytes. Slowly, the terentatek lifting into the air, hovering as it struggled to break free of its shrinking prison.

The corrupt creature succumbed to the acolytes' will. Green fluids oozed from its various wounds and orifices. The monster of nightmares had been destroyed by the combined effort of eight lowly Sith. Lifeless, the students permitted the corpse to fall and slump to the cavern floor, dripping in its defeat. Releasing their grip, the acolytes slumped in their place, victorious.

Tired. But victorious.


	41. 2-15 Returns

**Chapter Fifteen: Returns**

The acolytes surrounded the fallen monstrosity for a closer look as it stewed in its lifelessness. As the pool of green fluid steadily flowed from the creature, the students looked with inquisitive eyes, unsure if it was blood or venom, or whether the two were even separable in such a dastardly beast.

"Did we just do… what I think we did?" Ryloh asked, his torso hunched over as he drew in a series of exhausted breaths.

"We did," Lorrik stated, genuinely astounded. "We killed a terentatek. A creature whose sole purpose was literally to kill Force-users."

"The ancient Sith left us such wonderful gifts," Arlia joked through parsed breaths.

"How many points does this earn you with your god?" Kar'ai asked as she elbowed the neighboring Trandoshan.

"Is no servant to Scorekeeper," Nesk muttered. "But… is satisfied."

"I'd say we've more than proven our strength… all of us," Jresh confidently stated, shooting a glance toward Isorr, who tried his hardest to keep his stance rigid despite suffering the same exhaustion as his peers.

The Zabrak righted his posture, turning his back on the fallen beast. "It's dead. Time to move on."

"He's right," Jresh admitted. "The Academy is in our sights and there nothing more this miserable planet can throw at us."

"Please… please, don't say things like that," Lorrik offered with a heavy sigh.

"If you'd like, we could see where these caves lead. Who knows, there might be a tomb at the end of one of the passages," Jresh joked.

"Is this seriously what it feels like to be on the other end of my snark? I'm so… so sorry everyone," Lorrik muttered as he appeared on the brink of slumping entirely to the ground.

Placing a hand on his companion's shoulder, the Pureblood reassured the Human of their purpose. Setting their eyes to the exposed skies above, they replaced conversations with an unshakable desire to proceed. Moving over to where the edge of the pit began, Jresh steadied himself before lowering his stance and coupling his hands in front of him.

"Come on, I'll give you a boost," Jresh stated.

With a deep breath, Lorrik approached his partner and placed a foot in the palms of the warrior's hands. With a powerful lift, the Pureblood shot the inquisitor upward enough for him to adequately claw himself over the edge and back onto the surrounding plains of Korriban. The acolytes followed with similar measures of success. As Jresh offered his services to Isorr, the Zabrak simply cast one dismissing glance before leaping up unassisted. With a powerful jump, Isorr was able to just barely make it up to the edge. Jresh offered one harsh arch of his brow before doing the same. With the eight acolytes walking upon the cracked terrain once more, they set forth on a determined stride toward the Academy.

The students trudged along, their eyes glazed over with a dulled expression of fatigued determination. They had been beaten and battered, against stone and claw, and their attire showed as much. The acolytes finished off the contents of their beaten canteens, hydrated themselves for the final stretch home. A mountain range laid perpendicular to the horizon, blocking any true view to the Academy, but the tell-tale signs of monuments peaked over its ridges. The hind of bowed heads, hewn from stone and towering over the grounds in front of the Academy, revealed themselves to careful eyes. Heading toward the opening in the range to their left, the acolytes knew they were close to their return. Close to their apprenticeship.

And all eight continued. Their progression now fully within their sights, within their grasps, and none thought to deviate. None thought to cast their fellows aside. None thought to surge forward or drift behind. The eight students had survived together. Thrived together. They intended to arrive together. To see their master's face. To face their master's judgment.

The acolytes marched in silence. Time had lost its meaning. There was no distinguishing seconds, nor minutes, nor hours. So many things had lost their impact, lost their definition. Drive was the only thing that remained within the students, but it was a sufficient motivator to propel their drying husks across the cracked terrain. Finally, after all the toil, after all the sore steps of aching feet, the silence was broken.

A series of gasps and expressions of joy followed as the group passed the threshold of the surrounding ridge. There it was. In the distance. The Academy. Nestled in the rear of a protective wedge of mountain ranges, the dark prism had finally revealed itself. Beyond the statues. Beyond the tombs. Beyond the excavations. At the foot of the opening, a great many things loomed over the acolytes. A line of towering statues stood to their left and right. The raised, grandiose institution watched over the entirety of the proceedings within its domain. A security checkpoint lay between the students and their destination.

A military grade barrier had been constructed at the threshold of the Academy grounds, manned by Imperial soldiers donning red armor. As the students slowly shuffled toward the entrance, the sentries took careful notice. Upon the eight individuals' approach, a pair of sentries raised their rifles and trained them on the acolytes.

"Halt!" one of the Imperials shouted.

"Out of our way!" Isorr shouted back. The Imperial shot out a warning bolt above the Zabrak's head.

"I said, 'Halt!'" the sentry continued.

"This isn't the time to be testing the person holding a blaster!" Arlia harshly whispered to her partner.

Lorrik raised his hands, flashing his open palms as he stepped forward. "We're from the Academy! We're acolytes! Let us through!"

"Acolytes?" the sentry muttered in disbelief. Turning toward one of his fellows, the Imperials shared hushed whispers with another guard, each still refusing to lower their weapon.

"Don't think you can fool us! Their kind aren't admitted to the Academy!" the other sentry exclaimed. "You're either escaped slaves… or Republic spies!"

Kar'ai balked, mouth agape. "What? That's ridiculous!"

"We've been students of this Academy for years!" Ryloh attempted to explain.

"Everyone remain calm… we can talk through this!" Lorrik said to his allies.

While the Human's attention was focused on the other acolytes, Jresh took a step toward the sentries.

"'Their kind aren't admitted to the Academy'?" Jresh repeated, his voice bitterly cold and his visage following its lead. "Is that what you said?" The sentries hesitantly reaffirmed their rifles upon the approaching Pureblood. "And what of my kind? Surely you recognize the face of a Sith. Of someone who is your better by birth alone? Isn't that what you've been taught? Red skin. Fleshy tendrils. The traits of someone you should needlessly respect and admire. Judge not by one's action or abilities, but by their appearance and bloodline. Isn't that correct?"

"We-" one of the sentries struggled to speak.

"These men and women are every bit my equals, and you would dare to deny them entrance to the place they have spent years shedding their blood, sweat, and tears to appease the whims of those as close minded as yourselves? We are acolytes, and now the apprentices, of Lord Syrosk. I demand that you step aside, and-"

Interrupting the warrior's speech was the firing of another blaster bolt. Quickly, the Pureblood raised his fist, blocking the round with his gauntlet. Jresh remained adamant through the blast, even as it stripped the material from his glove and a layer of charred flesh from his forearm beneath. Ignoring injury and pain, Jresh pressed forward the last few steps needed to close the gap between himself and the sentries. Talking hold of the firing Imperial's weapon, the Pureblood sent a charred backhand across the sentry's facemask, driving him to the ground. As the sentry's partner trembled on the spot, Jresh was already upon him, sweeping him to the ground and cracking his chest plate under his cascading foot.

The other acolytes rushed forward to join their compatriot, but a squad of Imperials were doing the same. Stepping beyond the threshold of the barrier, the eight students saw over ten sentries approaching their position. Stopping an adequate distance away, the Imperials stepped into a line formation, drawing and aiming their blaster rifles toward the intruding acolytes. The students remained utterly still, unwilling to challenge the sentries outright.

Suddenly, a dark figure landed from the skies between the students and the Imperial guards. Kneeling, his head lowered, all attention was drawn to the figure's suffocating black cloak and his extended arm, wielding within its grasp the crimson blade of an ignited lightsaber. The entirety of his torso donned in black armored plates, the only discernible detail were the two curved horns sprouting from the individual's cranium. Slowly raising his head, the figure looked upon the group of battered and tattered acolytes with an atypical smirk.

"Welcome back… my apprentices."


	42. 2-16 Apprentices

**Chapter Sixteen: Apprentices**

The eight students gazed upon their master with a curious wonder. The Sith Lord's words stirred in their minds over and over. Apprentices. It was official. Rising from his knee, the staggering alien stood with his back to the halted Imperial sentinels. Slowly, one by one, the checkpoint guardsmen lowered their weapons in the presence of the powerful figure.

"I am Lord Syrosk," the horned alien announced before turning to face the Imperials. "These eight individuals are my Sith apprentices. They are to be given the respect and recognition afforded to them, not by Academy standards, but by those of our glorious Empire. I trust none of you will obstruct our paths any further."

The Sith's words carried such weight that the sentinels silently parted their formation and bowed their heads, averting their gazes from the Sith, ignoring the pair of guardsmen who still lay beaten upon the ground. Their path sufficiently unobstructed, Syrosk concealed his lightsaber before beckoning for his apprentices to follow. The eight students were hesitant, most of all Lorrik, whose eyes were affixed to Jresh's forearm. The Pureblood has a sufficient patch of flesh missing, but it offered no outpouring of blood nor pain. The warrior had achieved a control over his own body the inquisitor had to see with his own eyes to believe.

Syrosk halted his proceedings to turn toward his unmoving students. "Apprentices?"

"Syrosk… master…" Lorrik muttered, simultaneously combative and repentant. "Before we proceed… we require answers."

The inquisitor's outburst prompted a quick chortle from the Sith Lord.

"You've earned as much. But first, you must rest. Can't have you making demands of your master in such a pitiful state. It sets a bad example," Syrosk rasped before continuing back toward the Academy.

The apprentices shared a round in curious looks before silently following in their master's wake. The nine Sith walked amongst the lower cliffs that sprawled in front of the Academy. The outer extremities of the Empire's focused domain bore the machinations of war and archeology. Turrets sat atop the highest peaks, eternally scanning the skies. Cranes and excavators populated the lower reaches, digging up the remnants of ancients. The various levels were dotted with activity. Acolytes darted from area to area with intent. Slaves toiled under their overlords as their bodies served the Empire's goals. Numerous faces, all of them unfamiliar to the apprentices. This area, none had laid eyes on it with such focus. Only the distant glance atop distant ridges.

Lorrik languished as he took in his surroundings. How could all this be new to him? After so many years of study within the Academy, how could it be that he had been kept from the outer workings that took place in such close proximity. He watched as young, upstart Sith carried out the desires of their superiors. Each of them much more powerful than he thought the Academy capable of producing. Purebloods and Humans, all of them.

"Today marks a new beginning for each of you," Syrosk spoke up, not altering his attention from the course ahead of him. "You will soon reap the bounty of your progress. Your own personal lightsaber. Your own set of clothing and armor. Advanced training. Sovereignty. Knowledge. From this point forth, everything will be different. Different, not easier. In fact, your most difficult trials lay ahead, and not solely by my own devising. I know you have questions. You know I have answers. I am willing to part with such in time. But recovery comes first. You've no doubt suffered from your time in the wastes. The experience will have made you stronger, but your bodies and minds have degraded for the short-term. Return to your rooms. Eat. Drink. Sleep. When the sun has fallen, we will reconvene. Until that time, do not leave your rooms. Am I understood?"

The students offered their various affirmations as they continued to follow their master. Together, they made their way back toward the Academy, up the various lifts and walkways that stretched before the institution. Walking across the exposed landscape, the apprentices felt the burning sting of harsh gazes bearing down upon them. Acolytes, Imperials, they all expressed silent concern with the group's presence. But the group marched on with their own silent resilience. For the moment, they cared not for their place in any establishment, in any social order. Far too many thoughts swirled in their head for them to focus on a single one.

Inside the Academy interior, the stark contrast between the harsh landscape and the cold interior shook the new apprentices to their cores. It hadn't even occurred to them that they stood in a place of relative respite. Their minds were on autopilot, only guided by their senses. They saw, they heard, they felt, but could make no judgment on more than the barest of information.

Making their way through the Academy interior, the group eventually reached their destination. The Saarai Suites. Making his way to each suite, Lord Syrosk entered the door's security code before turning his back on its residents. The pairs separated and partook in the solace of their homes within the Academy, away from the watchful eye of their master.

Passing the threshold of the apartment, Lorrik and Jresh stood dumbfounded as they surveyed their surroundings. Nothing had changed in the past week. Everything was as it was the moment they made their final departure for the Korriban wastes. Cabinets and drawers slightly ajar as they searched for anything that could be useful. Surfaces remarkably clean and orderly. It was a place constructed by a patient, guided hand rather than the tumultuous chaos that shaped the landscape surrounding the Academy. It offered peace. It offered safety. For the moment, the pair wouldn't have it any other way.

The inquisitor dragged his feet as he shuffled toward his bedroom where he knew the bastion of comfort and rest that was his bed awaited. Just as he was about to enter his personal shelter, he turned to see Jresh had decided to take a seat upon the meditation mat that lay in the center of the living area.

Lorrik tried to catch his partner's attention. "Jresh?"

Utterly calm and composed, the Pureblood took up his customary position upon his knees where we would lose himself within his own mind.

"Get some sleep, Lorrik," Jresh calmly directed as he removed what remained of his tattered outer coat.

"What about you?"

"For me, this is rest."

The warrior's eyes remained closed as the inquisitor altered his path. Slowly, Lorrik approached his partner. Jresh flinched as his partner took ahold of his injured arm.

"Damn. This looks worse than I thought," Lorrik stated as he gazed at the warrior's wounded flesh with concern.

"It's fine. It'll heal with time," Jresh said as he tried to rescind his arm. The inquisitor's grip remained firmly attached.

"Are you kidding? I can practically see bone. Let me heal you."

"Don't exhaust yourself. I can handle this. Go to sleep," Jresh directed. The inquisitor delivered a quick jab with his fist to the Pureblood's shoulder.

"You don't get to sit here and say things like that. Everything we did out in the wastes we did together. I'm not going to sleep knowing that you're injured. Now shut up, and let me heal your arm!"

Jresh relaxed his limb, allowing the inquisitor to focus on the deep blaster wound. Lorrik removed the rest of the warrior's upper clothing to prevent any obstruction or complication of the healing process. The Human's hands began to glow as they passed over the injury. The two apprentices closed their eyes in deep meditation as the recovery process unfolded. The open wound began to slowly close as it repaired itself. Muscle fibers regenerated and reconnected. Nerves came back online. Crimson skin enveloped and concealed previous signs of damage. When enough time had passed, the warrior was left with only a light patch of flesh where the deep gash once was.

Releasing his grip, Lorrik returned control of the arm to its rightful owner. As Jresh inspected the wound, he began to flex and articulate his digits for any sign of malady. He found none. Clenching his fist, his grip was as solid as ever. Beside the Pureblood, Lorrik breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'd ask you to not underestimate my capabilities," Lorrik offered with a smile.

The Pureblood's head dipped. "After all that's happened… after all you've done for the good of the group… I couldn't make a request. You've already given far more than anyone could ask of you."

"Heh. So selfish," Lorrik joked. "Don't you know by now that we've evolved beyond simple requests?"

"Simple requests? You hold within your hands a great power. One I'll readily admit to not fully understanding. I can diagnose and analyze martial fighting styles to the most intricate details, but this? I know what effects a lightsaber will have on a body. I can't say the same about the Force. I don't want you to overexert yourself on my behalf."

"And what do you call stomping about whenever I've been slighted? Hmm?" Lorrik teased. "We offer ourselves to each other. It's what we do. As for the Force? You want to know what is required to channel it? Focus. Plain and simple. You know what gives me focus? You. Force-users draw upon multiple sources. Peace. Emotion. Joy. Hate. But in the end, we all require focus. Something to consolidate all of our wants and desires upon. Sometime unbreakable. A bond."

Jresh's eyes snapped open as he felt the embrace of his companion's arms wrapping around his shoulders. Looking down, the Pureblood saw the inquisitor's hands interlock in front of his bare chest. The Human rested his head upon the warrior's shoulder, feeling the gentle rise and fall as his partner drew breaths. Jresh felt enveloped, suffocated by the unceasing hug. He steeled himself as he contemplated action, but in a moment of clarity, was overcome with a solace and warmth. A meditative state, not locked away within the recesses of his own mind, but within the embrace of his companion. Slowly, Jresh closed his eyes. Content.

Whatever troubles the two of them would face in the future, they knew deep in their hearts that they would face it together.


	43. 2-17 Answers

**Chapter Seventeen: Answers**

For the next few hours, Lorrik and Jresh rested and recuperated. Each attempted to cleanse themselves of not only the dirt accrued from a week in the wastes, but whatever baggage had managed to sink its claws into their psyches. A cleansing of the body and mind. Stepping out of the shower, Lorrik caught his mirrored image upon the reflecting wall. He had expected a haggard visage, one that had been through turmoil, through pain, through the physical and metaphorical grit of Korriban. Instead, he found a face of determination. One of resilience. One of vigor. He locked eyes with himself, gazing deep into the amber irises that stared back. He saw the image's lips began to curl into a smile of confidence.

The apprentices suited up. Gone were the tatters they had to contend with the past week. A fresh set of robes were pulled from their closets. Black fibers with red and purple trims enwrapped the students' renewed countenances. Gloves and boots slipped over and were secured to their hands and feet. Fully garbed in their robes, the apprentices stood tall, rigid in not only their stature, but in their state of mind. They stood at the precipice of a new dawning. Leaving their respective rooms, the pair met each other with symbiotic respect.

Simultaneously catching their attention was an unfamiliar ring buzzing through the apartment. Upon it's cessation, the two apprentices made their way to the entrance. Poking his head out the opened door, Lorrik saw the other pairs doing the same. Next to each of their doors' exterior control panels, there was a note posted. Utterly simple in its message and design.

_Banquet Hall B_

_Two Hours_

_-Syrosk_

Lorrik puzzled over his master's directions. "Banquet hall? We have banquet halls? Let alone at least two?"

"Where there's Sith, there's expense," Jresh plainly offered.

"At least we'll be served food when we face our master."

"Do we pressure Syrosk for answers this soon to our return?"

"It's now or never," Lorrik replied. Looking out and across the hall, the Human saw the confirming nods of the other students as they retreated into their rooms. "You think this is proper dinner attire?"

"We don't know what could be thrown at us before, after, or even during this meeting. Dress to repress."

"Should we be armed?"

"Well, I've no weapon…"

"If we're upgrading to actual lightsabers soon…" Lorrik began as he eyed the training saber clipped to his belt. With a pause, he removed the weapon and gently placed it on a nearby counter. "I'd better get used to the lighter weight."

"You seem unfamiliar with the consequences of directly confronting a Sith Lord, even as his apprentice," Jresh stated.

"We know so very little about our actual place here… but there is something I firmly believe. Lord Syrosk wants us to succeed. He's invested in us. He'll not cast us aside for questioning his motives or our future."

"You're sure of this?"

"Yes."

"Then you have my support. I am not as skilled in the matters of persuasion as you… at least, not without my hand reaching for someone's throat," Jresh stated.

"Nonsense. With that soothing voice, you make the act of strangulation sound downright pleasant," Lorrik joked as he patted the warrior on the back.

The Pureblood offered a single chuckle as he and his companion turned from the door. They were scheduled to convene with their master in two hours. They planned to be fully ready.

* * *

The hours passed quicker than any of the apprentices expected. Vacating the safety of their residencies, the eight students walked in tandem amongst the Academy interior. The banquet hall was tucked away from the forefront of the grandiose establishment, nestled high and deep within the upper halls. Passing through with little complication, the eight apprentices had reached their destination. An unassuming door stood in front of them, beside it a small plaque bearing its description. Banquet Hall B.

Lorrik placed a light hand upon the door, prompting it to automatically shoot up into its recess and grant the students an unbridled view to a wondrous scene. Beyond the threshold of the hall rest a living picture of decadence amongst the structured order of Imperial designs. Resting in the center of the elongated chamber was an imposing table that stretched from each end of the room, more than capable of seating the nine Sith intent on eating. Polished metal, the color of smoke, made up the majority of the furniture. Tapestries and cloths hung from them with a deep crimson, bearing the trimmings and signets that fostered the undeniable Sith image.

Across from the entering party, sitting at the head of the table, Lord Syrosk waited patiently with a short-stemmed glass resting within his ungloved palm. Seeing his disciples enter, the Sith Lord took a sip of brandy as he raised himself from his seat. The apprentices were confused to see their master had shed his usual battle regalia, replacing his usual set of armor with a simplistic set of black robes.

"Students… apprentices. Please… take a seat," Syrosk directed with a warm rasp. Seeing eight seats situated in front of eight empty platters near their master's end of the table, the apprentices could deduced what was expected of them. Silently, they took their seats, four on each side of the Sith Lord. "You all must be wondering… why I have gathered you here, of all places. The truth of the matter is… they are planning on converting this hall into another combat wing. I wanted to have a meal here before they install the training dummies."

The students looked at their master flabbergasted as he nonchalantly took another sip of his brandy.

"In case you forgot," Lorrik tersely spoke up, "we just got back from a hellish trek across the wastes of Korriban. You'll understand if we expected some measure of seriousness."

"That's a shame," Syrosk coldly admitted. "I always thought I could count on you to keep things lighthearted. Although I suppose even someone such as yourself would harden when they're prepared to challenge their master." Lorrik tensed within his seat. "Yes, I know you intend to wring as much information out of me as you can before you'll continue your training proper. And I know you're backed by the other seven in such desires. Very well. I'm an open book."

"How do you know what I wanted? How do you know half things you manage to just pull out of thin air?" Lorrik asked, almost interrogating the Sith Lord.

"Being a telepath is almost worth the admonishment that comes with being an alien within the Empire," Syrosk bluntly answered. The response prompted the eight students to uncomfortably shifted in their seats.

"You can read minds?" Kar'ai asked.

"Only those that are untrained," Syrosk replied. "Unfortunately, your previous instructors did a poor job in that regard. In fact, they may have made you more susceptible."

"Speaking of aliens… the guards outside… they said our kind weren't admitted to the Academy," Ryloh lowly muttered. "They didn't look down on our presence, they rejected it."

"The Korriban Academy is… rigid… in its traditions. Chief among them the selectivity of accepted candidates," Syrosk explained. "No aliens. No slaves."

"Then, how do you explain us?" Arlia asked.

"Easy. You are not, nor have you ever been students of the Korriban Academy," Syrosk explained. The eight apprentices froze, staring wide-eyed at their master, trying to comprehend his shocking revelation.

There was a loud thud as Isorr slammed his heavy fist upon the table. "I have been here... for over a decade. Shed blood. Broken bones. Countless hours. Countless duels. You cannot sit there, and tell me I haven't been a student of this Academy!"

"Oh, but I can," Syrosk countered. "Your kind are not admitted to these halls. This is the most prestigious institution for training Sith in the entire Empire. They'd not have it soiled with impurities. I was trained at the personal behest of my master, far away from any of the Academies. Only by his influence and years of work am I able to operate within these particular halls."

"What happened to him?" Jresh asked.

"He's dead. Killed years ago by the same man responsible for your tenure here before I pulled you from your classes," Syrosk explained.

"So, what? Are we part of some revenge scheme of yours to get back at your master's killer?" Lorrik harshly questioned.

"I suppose you could consider myself motivated by hate. But hate of more than one single person. Hate of the ideas that person represents," Syrosk admitted. "That person's name is Darth Tash."

"Tash," Jresh muttered as stroked his chin. The Pureblood's companion offered a curious glance. "In the old Sith language, it means 'lie'."

"He is a man of intricacies, and overlapping and interweaving plans. A man with enough years at his disposal to not just recruit likeminded Sith… but to grow them, raise them, cultivate them to suit his needs," Syrosk explained. "You eight were brought here as pawns, to be used in Tash's political games. He was given control of the ancient halls you all once called home. Each of your instructors were agents of his will. Your former classmates still operate under his dominion."

"But why? What is he planning?" Lorrik asked.

"That, I am unsure of," Syrosk admitted. "I have been guided by visions, premonitions. But there is a darkness that prevents me from seeing with clarity. A darkness that is not only his, but also my own. He is preparing for something. Amassing a legion, one of specific constructs and divisions."

"Something you thought to disrupt by removing us from the classrooms?" Jresh asked.

"When he removed the warriors, you mean. Us inquisitors were 'rescued' by happenstance," Lorrik added.

"There is reasoning behind all things, whether it is clear to us or not," Syrosk rasped. "Darth Tash seeks to repress strength, and delay the progress of those under his domain. I sought to allow a select few to rise above. To see their potential realized. To be Sith. To be more than Sith. We both offer a guiding hand, but where he seeks to oppress, I seek to unchain. Tash's followers believe him to be aiding the war effort, finding a use for the impure amongst the Empire without making them proper Sith… but he is only loyal to himself. Not to the Sith, not to the Empire. He tolerates only that which he can manipulate on his path of ascension. Everything else is destroyed."

"Sounds like a proper Sith," Isorr bluntly stated.

Syrosk cast his deadened stare upon the Zabrak. "The Sith are plagued by ideas of wonton destruction and manipulation. Being a Sith means strength. Being a Sith means freedom. Though these aspects often manifest in countless murders and betrayals, those come from the individual and the teachings of individuals. The most basic tenets of the Sith are about following passions, gaining strength, finding freedom through the Force. I'd like to see those tenets extended beyond the Empire's chosen peoples."

"So what? We're to believe you're looking out for us?" Arlia replied.

"No," Syrosk plainly stated. "You are eight individuals that represent an idea. Were there others more worthy amongst Tash's crop, they would have presented themselves. I will train you. I will test you. If you are in danger, and believe me, you will be in danger… I will not save you. Only you have the capacity to prevent your deaths. I will simply be providing the teachings to facilitate that capacity. You all are my apprentices, I will push you toward greatness."

The eight students looked upon their master with trepidation. Entire years of their lives had been practically invalidated. But they were on a new path. Though they didn't know what to expect going into the future, they knew it was better than it would have been under Tash's instructors.

"But… why the pairings?" Lorrik asked, shooting a quick glance to his companion.

"A good question, and one I shall answer with an upcoming trial," Syrosk answered.

"I have a question. If those in Tash's classroom were supposed to be 'impurities' within the Empire," Arlia spoke up, "how do you explain Lorrik and Jresh."

"Well, I was a slave before coming to the Academy," Lorrik plainly admitted.

"And the Pureblood? I thought the Sith adored his kind," Arlia stated. Jresh remained still, silent, and stern in his seat.

Lorrik concernedly faced his companion. "Jresh?" Silence followed.

"I see. So he hasn't told you yet, Lorrik?" Syrosk asked, already knowing the answer. "Very well. That's his choice." Entering from a side door, an Imperial attendant entered the banquet hall and approached the seated Sith Lord. Whispering in his ear, Lord Syrosk nodded before dismissing him. "Well, I imagine you've all had not much to eat in the last few days. Let's remedy that."


	44. 2-18 Options

**Chapter Eighteen: Options  
**

As the Human attendant disappeared into the whatever recesses lay beside the banquet hall, Lord Syrosk gently held the glass of brandy within his clawed hand.

"It's a shame a shame Zellos lost Bothawui… makes it hard to get your hands on this kind of brandy," Syrosk nonchalantly muttered.

Isorr's nostrils flared, a heated dissatisfaction brewing within him. "So… that's it? You tell us we've wasted years of our lives in service to people who couldn't care less about our existence, and we're supposed to feel better because you've so graciously decided to become our mentor. Give us some fancy new robes… give us food when we're hungry…"

"This is Korriban," Syrosk reminded with a raspy chuckle. "Your superiors couldn't care less about your existence regardless of your social standing. The Jedi train their young to keep the peace. The Sith train their young to keep the war. You were merely taken advantage of as a collective rather than an individual. Acolytes aren't destined for greatness. Acolytes aren't respected. They're expected to fight. They're expected to lash out and kill each other until only the strongest remain. I wasn't lying when I said you were nothing when we began our training. Honestly, even the bastardized teachings of Tash's instructors couldn't have concealed the nature of succession from you all. Were you expecting to walk out of this Academy with your head held high? Your fellows would snap your neck to prevent such a luxury."

Entering from the side door, the attendant wheeled in a multi-tiered dolly bearing eight concealed dishes. Only the metallic clinks of utensils and trays permeated the room as the students and their master waited in silence. One by one, the apprentices had a covered dish placed in front of them, until all eight had been served. Lord Syrosk's placemat, however, remained bare.

"Aren't you eating?" Kar'ai asked her master.

"Oh, no. I've already eaten," Syrosk quickly answered.

"Makes sense… Bothan Brandy is typically a post-meal drink," Lorrik muttered, his voice utterly lacking emotion or care as he stoically eyed his plate. The others offered the peculiar Human a curious look before turning back to their dishes. As the students removed the covers from their plates, they revealed the steamy succulence of a warm meal. A hearty slab of meat, obviously from off-world, cooked and seasoned to near perfection, coupled with vegetation none of the students had laid eyes on in all their years on Korriban. Suddenly, a fire lighted in Lorrik's eyes. "Where did this food come from?"

"There are perks to being a Sith Lord," Syrosk explained.

"Even an alien one?" Ryloh asked.

"It helps if no one informs the chefs of which Sith Lord they are cooking for. Isn't that right?" Syrosk loudly rasped as he shot a cold glare toward the attendant who froze in fear. In silence, the Imperial bowed out of the hall. "Well, go on. Eat."

Arlia hesitantly stared at her food. "When everyone but the host eats it just screams of poison."

"The purpose of this meal is to reinvigorate you all," Syrosk explained. "The lesson in which I poison you all will only come when you are at full strength."

Ryloh and Lorrik stirred in their seats at their master's words.

As each apprentice hesitantly took their first bite, they soon found themselves unable to resist its tender call. Gone were any reservations of caution or decorum as the students tore into their meals. No longer did thoughts of their past plague their minds. No longer did the troubles of the future seep in. They were only aware of the present, and this food was definitely a present to be cherished.

The students ate as their master watched in silence. The meals, while sizable, couldn't hope to last against the appetites of eight hungry Sith. Their plates wiped clean, the apprentices leaned back with an inner satisfaction unfamiliar to them. Their bodies had been tended to, only their minds required sustenance.

"So," Lorrik spoke up. "Where do we go from here? I mean, this Academy, this mysterious Darth… there's so many questions we don't have answers to."

"As my apprentices, you'll be privy to whatever knowledge I can acquire with my various skills. That knowledge will not materialize overnight, but in the meantime, I will train you to be Sith, with all the strength and freedom that ought to come with it. Now, on the topic of freedom…" Syrosk trailed off as he reached into inner folds of his robes. His hands emerges bearing eight envelopes, which he handed to his neighboring students. "There is one package for each of you."

"Are we allowed to open them now?" Ryloh asked.

"That's not for me to decide," Syrosk plainly stated.

"What's inside of them?" Lorrik asked.

"Freedom," Syrosk answered. The students unsurely eyed their envelopes with confusion. "Literally. Not as some abstract, not as some mental test. Within each you will find a ticket off world and enough credits to take you wherever you want to go. You can leave the Sith, the Empire, and my teachings behind. You can walk your own path as a Sith outside the halls of this Academy. You all know that as Sith, true freedom will always be just beyond your reach. Until you're at the top, there will always be someone above you trying to impose their will upon you. At this point, you stand in a unique position to just walk away. You've no ties to the Academy. You're of no interest to Darth Tash so long as you don't interfere with his plans. You're not considered a lost asset by the Empire nor the Sith. Much of your lives have been controlled by covert, and sometimes overt, manipulations. When I sent you out into the wastes, I said I had plans no matter how many of you returned. That still holds true. I grant you the freedom to go your own way should you choose to do so. If you wish to remain one of my apprentices, then meet me atop the usual ridge at midday tomorrow. Dismissed."

Without another word, Syrosk raised from his seat and removed himself from the banquet hall. The students looked at their envelopes with uncertainty. No looks between apprentices, no looks between partners, merely the unceasing stare at the physical manifestation of their freedom.

"What should we do?" Ryloh asked his fellows.

"What 'we'?" Arlia replied. "We survived the wastes together, but this… this isn't a group decision. We've each been given something. Something we each have to decide how to use."

"If we stay, we're inevitably going to have to go against Darth Tash," Kar'ai stated. "Do we honestly understand what that means? The man was able to commandeer an entire wing of the Academy for his personal use, and keep the rest of it relatively in the dark."

"For all we know this is all a fabrication of Syrosk's design," Isorr spoke up. "A Sith Lord's a Sith Lord. You don't get that way doing favors for those below you."

The Rattataki eyed her envelope, gently scratching her chin. "We've all got our options outside the Academy. Nesk could probably take over any Trandoshan hunting clan he wanted to. Vurt could become a contract killer. Isorr and I could transfer to a less prestigious institution and practically dominate the competition. And there's always a place in the galaxy for handsome and beautiful Twi'leks. Lorrik's a Human so he could ingratiate himself anywhere he pleases. And I doubt Jresh couldn't find a proper place within the Empire."

"So you're contemplating leaving?" Arlia asked.

"I'm just listing our options," Kar'ai explained. "We can all go our own ways. But you have to admit we've done some pretty amazing things together."

Ryloh passed his gaze over to the Human and Pureblood. "Lorrik? Jresh? You two have been unusually quiet."

"I'm not one to quit something I've started," Jresh admitted. "And I can think of no greater challenge than going up against a Darth."

"That's for sure," Isorr added.

"Lorrik?" Ryloh tried again. The Human refused to rend his gaze from the envelope.

"Since before I ever stepped foot in this Academy… the only thing I desired was freedom," Lorrik stated. "Everything I've done, everything I've studied… has been to see that desire fulfilled. All those years I thought I was progressing toward that goal, it was all just the elaborate ruse of some unseen Darth. For the first time in my life, I hold some semblance of control over the direction of my life."

The students began to rise from their seats and make their ways back to their apartments, until only Lorrik and Jresh remained in the banquet hall.

Gently, the Pureblood placed a hand on his companion's shoulder. "I know how important it is to you, your freedom. I'll not see any notions of Sith pride or anything of the like stand in your way if that is your desire. Whatever you choose to do, know that I will not stand in your way."

"Why were you in the classrooms… with the rest of us?" Lorrik stoically asked of his partner. Removing his hand, Jresh stared at the Human who had not yet shifted his forward gaze. "There is something wrong with all of us. Some flaw that prevented us from proper admission into the Academy. Aliens. Slaves. Not you. I've seen your body. I'd recognize a brand. You see this?"

Lorrik twisted his head away from his companion and tugged down the collar of his robes from the back of his neck. At the peak of his spine, a squared symbol bearing intricate interior markings had been seared into his flesh, creating a permanent mark that persisted in its entirety to this day. Facing his partner, he found the Pureblood adamant in his stoicism.

"I had asked you of familial ties before. You evaded the topic," Lorrik stated.

Letting out a heavy sigh, the Pureblood lowered his gaze in embarrassment. "In our time together… I've not asked much of you. As a sign of respect, and understanding, I've limited the amount of requests I make of you. Now I ask, as a friend, to please give me some time. If you desire insight to my past, I will grant it. In time. That is all ask. All I will ever ask."

The inquisitor rubbed his brow with concern as he digested his companion's words.

"Alright. I can wait."

"Thank you, Lorrik."

The two apprentices removed themselves from the banquet hall in relative silence as they made their way back to the suite. Through the halls they walked, unburdened by the inquisitive gazes cast upon their alien compatriots. Without closer inspection, the two appeared as if they fully deserved to reside within the upper halls of the Academy. Back at the apartment, the two students retreated into their respective bedrooms for a good night's rest.

* * *

The next day came quick, the events of the previous one still deeply embedded in the apprentices' minds. Rising from his slumber, Jresh prepared for whatever lesson Syrosk had prepared for their first official day of training as apprentices. The warrior suited up, ready to face whatever enhanced trials their master had prepared them, even without a weapon to call his own.

Stepping out into the common room, Jresh found no evidence that Lorrik had awoken yet. Without the gift of a warm meal, the warrior thought to pass the time with meditation to ease the troublesome inkling creeping into the back of his mind. Stopping himself, Jresh thought instead to check on his companion.

Cautiously and quietly peeking into the bedroom of his partner, the Pureblood was shocked to see Lorrik's sheets completely empty. The closet had been opened and rifled through. No signs of activity in the bathroom. Stillness. Emptiness.

Lorrik had left.


	45. 2-19 Goodbyes

**Chapter Nineteen: Goodbyes**

Under the rising sun of the early Korriban morning, a hooded figure emerged from the Academy. The Human, garbed in black and purple robes, intently eyed the envelope he caressed within his hands. Raising his gaze, the inquisitor's eyes narrowed as he looked across the expanse of the Academy grounds. Nestled amongst the excavation sites and wandering acolytes, a landing pad hung over a precipitous cliff, occupied by a sizable transport shuttle. Returning the envelope to the fold of his robes, the hooded figure set forth on his intended path.

Looking around the common room, Jresh saw that little had been altered from the night before. No remnants of cooked foodstuffs lay within the kitchen area. The desk remained unattended, with no signs of tampering. Adjacent to Lorrik's, the footlocker bearing his acquired datacards and reader looked untouched. Without knowing the code, the warrior could only guess if it had been emptied.

* * *

Rushing into Lorrik's bedroom, Jresh began looking for any signs, any whatsoever, as to the whereabouts of his companion. The bed was empty and unmade. The closet open and rummaged through. The bathroom hadn't seen activity since the previous night. The Pureblood checked every surface with increasing haste. If he could find the envelope. If he could find a note. Anything more what he had now. Something more than nothing. Checking in every nook, looking through every crevice, he only wanted answers. He only wanted to understand.

But he couldn't even offer that decency to his partner. Jresh dreaded the day his past would return to haunt him. Only now did he realize that trying to hide it would prove the greatest detriment. He had told Lorrik to disclose everything, with the promise he would do the same. Jresh knew he was at fault. He knew he drove his companion away. Lorrik was gone, and he had given him no reason to stay. Out of selfishness. Out of pride.

Opening the drawer to the bedside table, Jresh laid eyes on a small electronic tablet. Retrieving it, the Pureblood sat upon the cushioned bed as the screen came to life. It wasn't Lorrik's datacard reader, but a smaller, more personal datapad. A listing of entries appeared on the screen. Looking over the numerically titled items, Jresh hesitantly selected the first entry. Opening the file, the datapad's speakers clicked on.

"Lorrik Velash's Journal: Day Two, Entry One. I've decided to take up a journal…"

* * *

The Human made his way down the steps of the Academy and into the open training grounds. He witnessed the harsh realities that took place each and every day, even this early in the morning. Acolytes vying for the attention of their superiors through the various demanding tasks set upon them. Achieving this, retrieving that. All the while their efforts in danger of sabotage by their fellows. In their want for ascension, they'd focus their efforts on keeping each other down rather than see someone else rise in their place. Selfishness given form.

The acolytes below had never been a part of the Human's special tenure at the Academy. He looked much as they did. With his hood up, none could see the indicator of his impurity branded upon his neck. He was just another student trying to get by as his boots shuffled against the dusty terrain. The figure was confident in his ability. He knew he was their superior. In knowledge and skill. But an inferiority was baked into his past. Into his blood.

No longer would he have to submit to the Academy's notions. Its desires. He had a ticket away from it all. Moving toward the landing pad, a curious thing caught the Human's attention, however. There was little to concern him in the working below. Above him was a different story. Standing high atop a nearby ridge, an acolyte stood alone, looking down upon the morning progressions. The rising sun behind him concealed his image, leaving only a shadowy silhouette. Gazing upon the unfamiliar figure, the inquisitor's interest was piqued.

* * *

"… I am content with study. It is the root of anything I could possibly consider power for myself. But Jresh, he's got ambition. And honestly, I want to see where it takes him. It'll be entertaining none the less."

As Lorrik's recording ended, Jresh was left dumbfounded as he sat upon his companion's bed. He struggled to piece together the thoughts currently swirling around in his head. Instead, he simply rubbed his brow as he harshly shut his eyes. Opening them, he once again gazed upon the datapad's luminous screen, tapping at the next entry.

"Lorrik Velash's Journal: Day Three, Entry Two…"

* * *

The lowly acolyte stood upon the cliff's edge of the high mountain ridge. Clad in the traditional gray robes, the unremarkable student looked out over the Academy grounds with a lowered gaze. His stance was rigid, frozen upright. His body appeared to have no intention of moving. The same could not be said of his mind. With a deep breath, the acolyte raise a foot and hovered it over the deadly precipice.

"Hey!" a mysterious voice called out to him from behind. The sound caused the acolyte to momentarily jump with fright, utterly destabilizing his previous rigidity. His legs stumbled and faltered, threatening to send the acolyte over the edge. Not a moment later, that threat was realized.

As the lowly acolyte was unintentionally propelled over the cliff, the second figure reached out with his hands, clawing at the air. Clenching his fingers, the robed Human swung his arms back, as if he had an invisible tether upon the falling acolyte. With the Force, the gray student was soon flung backward onto the relative safety of the mountain ridge, where he slid and tumbled before laying at the feet of his rescuer.

"What? Who are you?" the acolyte asked from the ground. The Human male was young, boyish, most likely in his late teens.

"Lorrik. Lorrik Velash," the upright figure answered. Both Humans' tones possessed an inherent confusion in their delivery, each unsure of the other's intentions. Lorrik extended his hand down to the fallen acolyte, who hesitantly accepted.

Lifting himself from the ground, the young acolyte struggled to make eye contact with the hooded figure. "What are you doing up here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Lorrik shot back. "Though I suppose your intentions were somewhat more apparent."

"No! I… I only jumped because you startled me," the acolyte begrudgingly stated.

His head lowered, the acolyte almost didn't notice the hooded man walk away, venturing toward the cliff's end. He watched as the figure sat at the precipice, his knees bent over the edge. Lowering his hood, the Human looked over the Academy grounds unburdened. With a wave, he asked the acolyte to join him. Slowly, the acolyte shuffled toward the familiar edge, and carefully lowered himself to Lorrik's side.

"So, what's your name?" Lorrik softly asked.

The acolyte other stared at his interlocked hands as they rest on his legs. "Rennis."

"How long have you been at the Academy?"

"Two months… and you?"

"Over ten years," Lorrik admitted. The acolyte stirred at the statement.

"Wow… how does someone survive that?" the acolyte asked.

"One could say they don't. Whomever I was when I first arrived is dead."

"How do you deal with something like that? How do you deal any of the things this Academy throws at you?"

"You just do. That's the point of this place. To test the strength of its denizens. Sadly, many do not pass."

"I couldn't take any more of it," Rennis admitted. "I arrived on Korriban alongside my best friend, and on week two I saw him killed before my very eyes. I couldn't do anything about it. I still can't. I'm too weak. I felt trapped, like there was no escaping, so I opted for the easy way out. That just proves my weakness…"

"You shouldn't say that. You are strong, whether you realize it or not. Strength isn't measured in your ability to defeat and control others. The fact that you were affected by your friends death means you are strong. A weak person would have simply ignored it. You tried. No one can take that away from you. This place doesn't test your strength, it tests your willingness to become a Sith. Something everyone doesn't, nor shouldn't, aspire to. But the Sith know only to judge as they have been judged. You are strong regardless of what the Sith or the Empire has to say. You didn't ask to be Force-sensitive. You didn't ask to become a Sith. This was all thrust upon you by people who don't understand what true strength is."

"But none of that matters within the Academy," Rennis muttered. "Once you're in, you're in. You either earn your freedom or you die. It doesn't matter what kind of strength I possess if it isn't the kind they prefer."

"What if you weren't burdened with the confines of the Academy? Of the Sith?"

"Idle wishes won't make me any happier about my place…"

"Not idle wishes, but possibilities," Lorrik warmly offered. "All things are possible. Remember that. If you no longer had to reside within the Academy and conform to the Sith ideology, would you have a plan of action?"

"I… I guess I would," Rennis stated as he lifted his gaze. Looking to his neighbor, he saw the Human reach into the folds of his robes, and retrieve an unmarked envelope. "What's in that?"

"Freedom. A ticket off world and enough credits to start a new life."

"Why are you carrying such a thing?"

"Because I intended to use it before I came across you. But I've changed my mind. I want you to have it."

"Whoa, I can't take this from you."

"You can't take it… but you can accept it. I realize I have unfinished business in this place. No one deserves to have this life thrust upon them. Forge your own path."

"I don't know what to say… you really think they'll just let an acolyte stroll off world?"

"Hmm, I guess you're right."

* * *

Rushing out of the Academy, Jresh scurried out into the Academy grounds hoping to catch Lorrik before he departed. Running past the various guards and officers, the Pureblood had his eyes set upon the shuttle port a short distance away. The warrior eagerly approached the landing pad holding a docked transportation vessel. As he looked upon it in the distance, he saw a hooded figure donning black and purple robes about to board the shuttle.

"Lorrik!" Jresh shouted with a thunderous roar, hoping to stall the departing inquisitor.

"Yes?" said a familiar voice. Searching for the nearby source, Jresh saw Lorrik was in fact standing only a short distance away, his torso unburdened by the usual outer robe of his uniform. Turning to the shuttle, he watched as the mysterious figure boarded without hesitation. Facing his nearby companion, the two approached one another in relative silence. "Jresh, I-"

Before he could finish a full utterance, Lorrik found himself bound and constricted by the tightening loop of Jresh's arms around his body. The inquisitor's feet dangled as his entire body was lifted from the ground within the warrior's powerful embrace. Through all the chaotic motions, Lorrik saw more than a faint smile upon his partner's face as he refused to cease his enduring hug.


	46. 2-20 Doctrines

**Chapter Twenty: Doctrines**

Holding his companion up in the air, the two apprentices continued to indulge in their merriment without a care in the world. If the other Sith amongst the Academy grounds were gazing upon their revelry, they did not know. Rather, they did not care. In the time of their brief separation, they realized fully their attachment to one another. And in that attachment, they saw not weakness, but an enduring strength. A bond.

Setting the inquisitor back upon the soles of his feet, the Pureblood attempted to straighten up his image, wiping the smile from his face. As hard as he tried to return to the stoicism he had so readily relied upon, there was still an aura of emotion about him. Lorrik expressed a quick chuckle as his partner's lips struggled to straighten themselves and the warrior slowed his breaths.

"I was… worried I might have missed you," Jresh admitted, prompting quick series of nods and a smirk from his companion.

"Oh, I know you would have missed me."

"I meant…" Jresh continued, increasingly flustered.

Lorrik gave his partner a firm pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry big guy. I know this emotional stuff doesn't exactly roll off the tongue for you. We've got time, no need to rush things."

"No. I can't just keep putting things off," Jresh stated. "When you left, I was certain it was because I had been dishonest. About my being here. About my past."

"Don't worry about it. We're all figuring out our place in this Academy. In this Empire. Our pasts are behind us. Let's focus on the future."

"It's not that easy. You brought up our lives before the Academy for discussion before, I evaded the topic. I was selfish. Concerned that my past would define me more than anything I've accomplished."

"Nonsense!"

"Is it?" Jresh asked. "Isn't that entire reason we're in this situation? Why we were hidden away amongst the halls of the Academy rather than out here with the true acolytes? Slaves. Aliens. Impurities."

"Our pasts are merely a sequence of events that shape our path. They don't define it. And they certainly don't define us," Lorrik declared. "We can't ignore our past. For all the painful, harmful memories, there is knowledge to be learned. There is strength to be drawn. And if I know you as well as I think I do, you'd never cast aside a potential source of strength. I'll admit, we are not in the most prestigious of positions at the moment… but if given the choice, I'd not alter the path I've walked. We think the Academy a place of uplifting those who have proven their superiority, but we forget those cast down in the process. Or maybe we remember them and just think it a deserved fate. The Academy… it's a horrible place. More so than we know. We haven't faced what these acolyte's have faced. Death was nonexistent amongst the classrooms. Out here… not so much. I could stand around, hating the years I've wasted under Tash's instructors, but the fact is… I might not be alive right now had I been accepted as a traditional student."

"I take it this has to do with the person I saw wearing your coat as they boarded the shuttle off world?"

"Yeah. Had a little talk with him. Younger than us and yet he's been through things much worse. This Academy would have no doubt been the end of him," Lorrik said as he gazed toward the landing pad. "I gave him my envelope. I saved his life."

"A noble action."

"He didn't deserve to go through what he did. He didn't ask to become a Sith. He was dragged here along with many others. Enslaved by the Sith, forced to earn their freedom from shackles they did not require. There is a path of ascension within the Academy, but it is buried under countless more that lead only to death and dismay. The Sith should be about freedom. We pursue the path we tread because it suits our goals, but we are the ones who should choose to pursue it! Our freedom is what sets us apart from the Jedi! The Academy is an institution of veiled enslavement, with true freedom reserved for select few. I cannot abide by this. We are Sith. We will not turn away from this path. But we cannot turn a blind eye to the contradictions… to the distortions placed upon that title. I used to think your idea of the Sith'ari as fantasy. Now, more than ever, I'd like to see that fantasy realized. I've moved past the manipulations of Darth Tash… of Lord Syrosk. My immediate thought this morning was to leave it all behind, but that would be putting my talents to waste. No. Instead, I will train. I will progress. And once I have achieved a sufficient level of power, I will mend this Empire. But alas, the foundations are much too warped. If we want to truly fix things, we're going to have to break them in the process. Are you with me?"

"Yes," Jresh adamantly answered. "Now and forever."

Without another word, Lorrik wrapped his arms around his companion once more and squeezed him as much as his limbs would allow.

Releasing his grip, the Human wore a determined countenance. "Syrosk has a lesson for us. We shouldn't miss it."

"You're right. Let us head back and prepare for the day ahead. You without a coat, and me without a weapon… it would be a rather embarrassing start for our new path, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, at least we can rectify one of those…"

* * *

The eight apprentices had reconvened later that day, standing atop the usual mountaintop with an odd sense of nostalgia. Situated in an orderly lineup, they stood within the stern, penetrating gaze of their master whom remained rigid at their opposite. Back in his usual armored getup, the intimidating figure panned his view from student to student, holding his eyes on one for a few moments before moving onto the next.

"Well, it seems all eight of you have opted to stay. Good," Syrosk plainly spoke up. "Given that you all stand here unscathed, I also take it none of you went out of your way to disclose the nature of Darth Tash's plotting to the Academy at large. We mustn't diverge from that choice. He is a dangerous and powerful figure who knows I still oppose him and his ways and would no doubt order his forces to strike against us… if, however, he weren't so caught up in his pride and sense of superiority. No, instead, we are currently beneath his notice. Partly by design, partly by fluke. But it is a factor that I plan to capitalize on. There is nothing simple about being a proper Sith. You must understand when and where to bare your teeth. I'll not send you out to fight my enemies. I'll not be using you as dispensable tools. I will be training you to be proper Sith. No one will know of your progress. No one will know of your strength. Not for quite some time. Put away your pride, your selfishness, your ego, unless they directly serve in your ability to better yourselves. Is that understood?"

The apprentices all offered a steady stream of nods and affirmations.

"Good. One thing you all must understand is that you are not students of this Academy. You are students of a Sith Lord currently residing within the Academy, making use of its facilities and surroundings. As my apprentices, you have earned my respect, but I cannot say the same for the Academy staff and its acolytes. Lorrik and Jresh may have an easier time walking the amongst the populace without burden, but the rest of you will be looked down upon. Therefore, it is fitting that you possess something indicative of your status. A proper lightsaber."

The students looked to one another with a budding pride, breaking from their disciplined formation at the thought of owning their very own weapon.

"With the traditional Force-user's weapon at your hip, people will be wary of drawing you into open conflict, which is something we need to establish sooner, rather than later. Typically, a master would gift his apprentice a lightsaber upon achieving the proper rank. I do not have eight with which to part with each of you. I do not even own a second lightsaber from my own. This is by intention. In my spare time I could have easily acquired weapons to simply pass out, but that would not teach you to appreciate it. I simply gave you your personal training sabers, and I see that one of you has misplaced it."

The others' eyes fell upon the weaponless Jresh whose posture refused to budge even the slightest.

"It fell off a cliff, sir," Jresh explained, his usual stoic self.

"No, it currently resides at the hip of Isorr. His lies twisted at the bottom of a darkened pit, not yours. Telepath, remember? After you all acquire your lightsabers, that will be the focus of our next training session. I may possess a gift for the art, but any Sith with sufficient training can dominate the mind of their opponent. Read it, control it, destroy it. Before we can continue, you all must be able to sufficiently defend yourself against the mental intrusions of your fellow Sith."

The apprentices were in agreement with their master's plan of action.

"Now, for your lightsabers, I can provide you the raw materials. Power cells. Lenses. Casings. Your responsibility will be acquisition of crystals. Fortunately, the Academy keeps a stock of such items. Unfortunately, they are kept remarkably expensive to keep them out the hands of lowly acolytes. Luckily, you all still possess the envelopes I presented to you yesterday, each with enough funds to purchase them."

"Damn," Lorrik muttered.


	47. 2-21 Tools

**Chapter Twenty One: Tools**

Lorrik's mind lapsed as Syrosk continued his speech. Words left his master's lips and found purchase upon his own ears, but there was something preventing them from holding meaning. The Sith Lord offered brief, succinct directions for his students, detailing the process of requisitioning crystals from the Academy's proper supply chain. The Human's eyes were glazed over when the students were dismissed and the Lord made his way back toward the Academy. It took a firm shake of his arm to bring him back to the present. Wildly turning his head, Lorrik shifted to see his companion gazing upon him with an arched brow.

"I can guess what's currently going through your mind at the moment," Jresh admitted.

"That obvious?"

"Don't need to be a telepath to see you're in duress."

"Duress is a… strong word."

"For the predicament, I'd say it fits," Jresh calmly stated. The pair watched the other students depart from the mountaintop without a fuss. "I'd say you're alone in your lack of funds. Think we could get by with my allotment and some careful haggling?"

"I don't know," Lorrik admitted, his hand softly rubbing his brow. "Syrosk most likely gave us just enough credits to get our crystals."

"Are you going to explain your situation to him?"

"He probably already knows. Hell, he probably knows about our entire conversation earlier today. The man is surprised by nothing."

"He doesn't come off as a man who knows his students plan on shaking the foundations of the Empire."

"He doesn't come off as anything," Lorrik stated. "What you see is what you get, and all you see is a scowl and some horns."

"What are you going to do?" Jresh asked.

"I don't know," Lorrik immediately replied. What followed was a heavy silence, broken only by the inquisitor's heavy sigh as he scratched the back of his head. Just as he was about to turn and trudge his way back to the Academy, a spark appeared within Lorrik's visage. "Go ahead and take care of your business. I'm going to make a… personal inquiry."

"What are you planning?"

"You remember how Syrosk said not to interfere with Tash's domain?"

"Quite."

"Well…"

"Just one question. Are you going to need backup?"

"No. I got this."

"Alright, then I'll place my trust in you," Jresh firmly stated. "Don't die. Don't do anything too disruptive."

"What's considered too disruptive?"

"Stomping about, making a mess of things."

"Don't worry. We inquisitors know how to utilize an indirect approach…"

* * *

"So tell me about Darth Tash."

The two brothers situated behind the requisitions counter within the lower halls looked up at the inquiring apprentice with pale faces. Paler than usual. The weapons master and quartermaster looked to each other without a shred of knowing how to proceed. Lorrik placed his hands on the counter and leaned forward with a confidence they had not seen before, not in him nor any of the usual acolytes that would grace their presence. That had witnessed bravado and stupidity, but not confidence. Especially in regard to their hidden master.

"Lorrik. It's been a while. How goes the cooking?" the quartermaster spoke up, playing up a nonchalant demeanor.

"Honestly, the man knows about Darth Tash and your mind is on food?" the weapons master asked, refusing to face the inquisitor directly.

"So what if he knows? He's outside the realm of influence."

"No one is outside the realm of influence. Darth Tash considers half the galaxy within the realm of influence."

"And he stops by for a status report how often? He was only here last week because one of the instructors called him in."

"Whoa, wait a minute," Lorrik interrupted. "He was here? Last week?"

"What, you weren't here to see him force your master to his knees?" the weapons master coldly stated.

"I was… in the wastes…" Lorrik muttered, trailing to the point of being inaudible.

"Lucky you. Had you been with him you likely would have been made an example of as well," the quartermaster explained.

"Though now, it's technically our duty to report your activities to him," the weapons master offered with no sense of urgency. "But…"

"But…?" Lorrik asked.

"But… that would require an effort neither of us are willing to make," the quartermaster finished.

"Not interested in earning his favor? Offering details about the apprentice of his hated rival?" Lorrik suggested.

"Does he hate Lord Syrosk?" the quartermaster asked, turning to his brother.

"To hate would be admitting to being affected. He's much too prideful for that," the brother answered.

"Yeah… we lean more towards the 'getting by utterly unnoticed' course of action. Darth Tash's attention isn't widely regarded as a boon."

"You obviously aren't trying to earn his favor, so why participate in his schemes?" Lorrik asked.

The weapons master released a quick chuckle. "You don't seem to understand the nature of choice in this Academy."

"We're here because… if we weren't, we'd be dead," the quartermaster added. "We came to Korriban as regular students. Prime Force-sensitive Humans from families in good standing. Unfortunately, our survival skills didn't exactly match our credentials. We were on our last legs as acolytes. Our deaths were certain. Darth Tash offered us a chance. We oversee some of the particulars of his personal wing of the Academy, we get to live outside all the 'kill or be killed' nonsense."

"We don't owe him. There's no sense of duty. We just know what needs to be done to survive."

"What about freedom?" Lorrik asked.

"What about it? It's a fabrication. A lie. A cruel joke," the weapons master declared. "I can show with my fingers the number of people in the Empire who are truly free. The rest of us are just trying to get by. Playing along with the schemes of deluded Sith."

Lorrik leaned in close, speaking with a sly whisper. "How would you feel… about playing along with another?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Just another scheme from one… little… deluded… Sith," Lorrik calmly stated.

The inquisitor cracked a smile to the confusion of the two brothers. The pair shared moment of silent contemplation with each other before turning back to the apprentice.

"Explain…" the quartermaster softly directed.

"I've encountered a roadblock in my training with Lord Syrosk. He's instructed us to acquire crystals for the construction of our lightsabers. We were supposed to use credits he provided to purchase said crystals from the Academy's 'true' supply chain."

"And the problem is?" the weapons master asked.

"I am no longer in possession of my allotted credits."

"What happened?" the quartermaster asked. "Get mugged? Waste it on cooking supplies? Discover the cantina?"

"There's a cantina… in the Academy?" Lorrik muttered before shaking his head. "No… no. I spent them smuggling a student off world, giving an acolyte a new life, outside all the 'kill or be killed' nonsense."

The brothers shared yet another look.

"So. You're in need of some free crystals. That might be out of our reach," the quartermaster admitted.

"Am I right in assuming Darth Tash wasn't behind that saber pike you had me fetch some time ago? And I know you have greater reach than one would assume, given that you provided me foodstuffs after I left Tash's domain. How hard could crystals for one measly lightsaber be to acquire?" Lorrik casually suggested.

"Of all the things our superiors would take notice of, a missing crystal ranks pretty high," the quartermaster explained. "We've been scrounging together parts as a pastime, over months. Years! If we could help you in any other way…"

"We can help you," the weapons master bluntly stated.

Lorrik brightened up. "You can?"

"We can?" the quartermaster muttered as his brother offered a stern glare. "Oh… right. I had almost forgotten about that."

"Care to explain?" Lorrik asked, completely lost in the brothers' musings.

"We have been sitting on… something… for some time. Something that might serve your needs," the quartermaster explained.

"Your delivery doesn't exactly inspire confidence," Lorrik admitted.

"You've never been a big fan of tradition, have you?"

* * *

Kneeling upon the meditation mat within his suite, Jresh gaze upon the finely cut crystal he had purchased from the proper supply channels. The bright crimson gem caught the light, seized it, refused to let it go. Grasping it within his ungloved hand, the crystal looked right at home amongst the Pureblood's reddened skin. The warrior looked upon the item's inherent magnificence, eager to see what would become of it.

A knock on the door interrupted his fascination. Raising himself from the mat, Jresh approached the suite's entrance. Clutching the crystal firmly within his hand, he refused to allow it to slip from his grasp. With his free hand, he opened the door, revealing the return of his companion.

There were no words. Only the wide open smile stretched across the Human's face. Within his hands, Lorrik loftily held a pristine blue crystal.


	48. 2-22 Bonds

**Chapter Twenty Two: Bonds**

Jresh eyed the blue crystal within his partner's hands. "A curious choice, I must admit."

"And I must admit that it wasn't much of a choice," Lorrik replied. "It's all the quartermaster had."

"The quartermaster? From our previous encounters? Did he give it to you… or did you have to take it?"

"No, it was given freely. No need to worry about consequences or retaliations…"

"I do hope you are not speaking generally."

Lorrik offered a quick chuckle. "No need to worry about that either. I took a calculated risk, openly confronting those whom are under Darth Tash's employ, but it paid off. I have what I need to continue my training proper, and I may have secured some valuable allies."

"More promises of home cooked meals?"

"You make it sound as if that's all I'm capable of offering."

"I'm merely weighing past interactions, I know your proper skills lie beyond the culinary. In our unique positions, there's very little we can actually offer these people beyond the use of our hands. No credits. No assets. No place in society…"

"All of which can be earned. In time, of course."

"Of that I'm certain, we must simply be aware of our restrictions going forward, lest we miss any opportunities to shed them."

"That's the kind of tempered determination I've come to expect from you."

"Someone needs to keep you in line."

"Whatever, Sith'ari," Lorrik teased. Venturing deeper into the suite, the inquisitor peered into his opened bedroom, witnessing a scene of rife with past rifling.

"You should know I went into your room this morning… when I realized you weren't here," Jresh admitted.

"Did you think I was hiding in the drawers?" Lorrik joked, eyes fixed on the ransacked night table.

"I also found your journal," Jresh spoke up.

Lorrik took only the slightest of pauses. "Listen to any of it?"

"The first few entries. I was… in a peculiar state of mind when I thought you had left for good," Jresh admitted. "I was distraught. I wanted some modicum of insight into where you had gone, what you were thinking."

"As long as we're being honest, I would have liked to have known what I was thinking this morning as well. I'd like to say I never intended to leave, but I don't know what I would have done had I not come across that other student."

"Well, like you said, remember the past, but don't dwell on it."

"Right, if there was ever a time to keep our wits about us, it'd be now."

"Really? Not when we were walking across the blasted wasteland or face to face with a terentatek?"

"And if there was ever a sign that things had returned to normal, it'd be you calling me out on all the stupid things I say."

"Now, now, there aren't enough hours in the day to call you out on all the stupid things you say," Jresh offered with the slight upturn of his lips.

The inquisitor let out a soft chuckle. "Hi. I'm sorry, have you seen a Pureblood by the name of Jresh? Big. Red. Stoic. Likes leaning against walls with his arms crossed. Befuddled by the concept of humor. I heard he was around here somewhere?"

"Given what we're expected to go up against, I doubt there will be any shortage of seriousness in the days ahead. You'll have to forgive me if I try and keep things lighthearted within our residence."

"This is it then. The moment everything changes."

"Lorrik, I do believe we are well past that point. Change is in our nature. Each day at this Academy will prove to distinguish itself from the preceding one. We've faced some harsh trials recently. Harsh revelations. And moving forward, I expect we'll face even more. Some will be easier… some will be much, much more difficult."

"But we'll face them together… right?"

"Of course we will."

"Then I look forward to it," Lorrik declared. "What do you suppose our next trial will be?"

"Can't say for certain. Though most likely yours will be facing the ridicule of the other students for possessing a blue lightsaber crystal."

"You don't think they'll give me much grief over it do you?" Lorrik asked, his face scrunched in a seemingly genuine concern.

"A Sith… with a blue lightsaber…"

"Hey, our roots belong to the Dark Jedi who left their order. If anything, I'm a hyper-traditionalist."

"An anti-slavery, anti-discriminatory, anti-Sith Sith traditionalist. It's as if you're trying to offend the people you surround yourself with."

"Have I offended you?"

"Absolutely not. Just know that the boundary between harmless jibes and grievous offenses is relatively thin for most Sith."

"It's almost as if you believe the denizens of this establishment are prone to overblown retaliations for any perceived slight. Outrageous. Not these fine, upstanding, murdering, subjugating, manipulating-"

"I have no problem with any new challenges that should come our way, just… like I said, someone needs to keep you in line."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm not worried. I bet no one even notices anything tomorrow."

* * *

"I feel like everyone is looking at me," Lorrik cautiously muttered through clenched teeth. The students had returned to their typical spot atop the mountaintop, each palming their acquired crystals within their hands. Eight apprentices situated in a familiar line across from their discerning master.

"To be fair, I don't think they're looking at you so much as your peculiar item," Jresh replied.

Lorrik pursed his lips as he struggled not to turn and face his fellows directly. Instead he kept his gaze upon his master, who was most assuredly staring directly into his eyes. "He's reading my mind. I just know it."

"To be fair, he's only a short distance away, he can probably just hear you."

"Stop saying 'to be fair'!" Lorrik harshly whispered, followed by a loud, drawn out clearing of the throat from the opposing Sith Lord. Immediately the inquisitor succumbed to silence as he softly bowed his head.

"Students," Syrosk began. "I see that all of you were successful in completing your task. You're all one step closer to possessing the proper weapon of a Force-user. It is, however, only one of many steps. And seven of you are ready to proceed to the next step." Lorrik's heart immediately sunk as the Sith Lord refused to break eye contact with him. "A lightsaber is merely one tool in the Sith's arsenal. One just as potent, just as dangerous, is the Sith's mind. Despite your flawed education of many years, it has served in bettering your martial skills. The same cannot be said for your mental aptitude. The acquisition process for your lightsabers will not be quick. You will design them. Construct them. Deconstruct them. Reconstruct them. Imbue them with the power of the Force. In the end, it will not be something you hold within your hand, it will be an extension of that hand. You will forge a bond. One of many bonds crucial to your progress. Considering the fact that this will be a long and arduous process, there will be… gaps… in your training. Gaps I don't intend to waste."

Moving closer to his students, Lord Syrosk panned his gaze from one end of the line-up to the other and back again, pausing his cold eyes upon each individual for the longest instant before moving on. The apprentices remained rigid in their stances, eyes forward, and minds clear.

"The first step, in a series of steps separate from those regarding your lightsaber, will involve one on one training sessions, in which we will focus on training your minds," Syrosk detailed. "Strengthening your resolve. Fortifying your defenses. Honing your capabilities. Securing your thoughts from prying individuals. Your minds will be trained just as your bodies were. They will be broken down, so that they can be rebuilt upon firmer foundations. And like your lightsabers, this building process will not be quick, and it will not be simple. When the body wants to overcome pain, it relies on the mind to trick it. When the mind wants to overcome pain, it has only itself to rely upon. This leads to delusions, misconceptions, and weakness. All of which must be overcome. Seven of you will spend the rest of the day researching designs for your lightsaber. One of you will accompany me to my chambers for training. Lorrik. That privilege falls to you."

The Human's heart sunk even lower than before. His eyes danced against the distant horizon as his vision began to blur. Indistinct vibrations pounded against his eardrums. Murmurs. Declarations. Instructions. Everything cleared when the inquisitor felt a firm hand upon his shoulder. The gloved hand of his partner felt heavy against his robe, but amongst the weighted burden there was relief.

"Good luck," Jresh directly spoke into Lorrik's ear before taking a step back toward the Academy. The Human saw the other seven apprentices had begun walking down the return path, leaving only himself and Lord Syrosk standing atop the mountain as the Korriban sun hovered over them.

"So, what's the thought process behind this choice? Does it have to do with my crystal, or are we starting with the person with the most potential… the least potential…?"

"We're starting with the mind I'd least appreciate the contents of which being uncovered by unscrupulous parties."


	49. 2-23 Layers

**Chapter Twenty Three: Layers**

Two figures walked the halls of the Academy, side by side, master and apprentice. Lord Syrosk lead. Lorrik followed. The two Sith walked in silence, the other denizens of the establishment passing them by, casting the occasional glance. It was a strange feeling for the student. He wasn't used to being alone with his master. The only previous one on one time was spent tucked away, where the Sith Lord might impart his knowledge in relative peace. During such times, however, the only topic up for discussion was in regards to lightsaber forms and martial tactics. There were only a limited number of ways that information could be imparted upon a student. The same could not be said of what was in store for Lorrik this day.

The inquisitor had grown used to being in the dark. Accepted it as a way of life. But there was always a pool of underlying knowledge to draw upon. Lorrik knew that with each new day, Lord Syrosk would find some fascinatingly unique way to test and train his students. But in the end there was simplicity. Do this. Don't do this. Expect pain and hardship and the threat of death. Simple. And for all the mind games and spiritual tests, they were always physical trials to be passed.

Mental trials. Mental trials were complicated. Not because the inquisitor knew nothing of them. No, it was within the inquisitor's purview to know all too much about them. And yet for all he knew, he was still in the dark. Matters of a Force-user's mind dwell between the simply complicated and the complicatedly simple. There were knowns, unknowns, and far too many contradictions. He didn't know exactly what he was getting into, but he knew to be cautious. This was something new, yet just as much the same as everything else he'd faced.

"I sense a hesitation brewing within you," Syrosk rasped, eyes and legs continually focused on the path ahead. Lorrik remained quiet, intent on preventing any peculiar outbursts in the company of his master. "It is, however, the only thing I can sense at the moment. This is good. If I could readily peer into your deeper thoughts without effort, I would be distinctly troubled."

The inquisitor took a deep breath. "Emotive states are the outermost and most easily accessed layer of the sense-able mind. Any sufficiently trained Force-user can sense what someone is feeling, even if they do not know what exactly they are thinking. This, of course, isn't taking into account defenses, falsifications, and the seemingly emotionless Jedi."

"I see your training as an inquisitor wasn't for not," Syrosk stated, not turning to face his apprentice. "Then you are familiar with the five layers?"

"The surface, housing emotions and abstract feelings. Next, deep thoughts and inner dialogue. Then comes past knowledge, memories. After that, the internal thought processes that shape future actions. And finally, direct control."

"The first three pertain to knowledge. The last two pertain to actions. I have access to the first three, assuming the individual isn't sufficiently trained in keeping out intruders."

"What of the deeper layers?"

"You of course know of the Jedi Mind Trick and the somewhat more… sinister… variants employed by the Sith. Allows for the manipulation of the deepest layers for a brief amount of time. Long term control against powerful subjects is reserved for only the most powerful Force-users."

"I was asking if you had access to those layers."

"I possess a certain distaste for such hands-on manipulations."

"That still doesn't answer my question."

"No. It doesn't."

"What about Darth Tash? If you two are rivals, I suspect you'd have similar capabilities."

"Yes and no. We didn't share a master, but we followed similar doctrines and were in contact with each other some years ago. As a Human, he never possessed the inherent talent for telepathy I did. You could almost say it was because of me that he put so much effort into strengthening his mind. It remains one of the most well-guarded I've ever encountered. But all his efforts have been focused on fortification. When it comes to outward manipulation, it's one of the few things he is incapable of. At least, when it concerns the Force. You know just how capable he is of manipulating the minds he surrounds himself with."

"It makes sense. Use the Force to pry into someone's mind, you risk being stopped, found out, or even beaten. Better to keep things analogue."

"Appealing to emotion, ambition, pride, greed. Why force others to follow you when they'll do it willingly? That's what makes him so dangerous."

"But it seems that for the moment, we're outside the realm of his direct influence. And if he isn't a capable telepath, why are focusing on defending against a tool he doesn't possess?"

"I can account for Tash's capabilities," Syrosk admitted. "I cannot do the same for his agents. Of which there are many. None worth worrying about within the Academy staff, but moving forward, we cannot risk a compromise. Also… the most important thing to keep in mind… is to not focus on one thing so much that you become blind to all else. You think Tash is the only person who will ever want you dead? This is the Empire, boy. We are Sith. And I can tell you right now, you don't want any third party learning what you're… plans… for the future are."

"You've obviously… taken a recent peak or two into my mind…"

"Quite. I appreciate the ambition without the bloodlust. Just know that people much more powerful than you have failed trying to do much less."

Lorrik's stance loosened up. "I like to think it keeps me grounded."

"Humor can be an ally should you learn to properly utilize it. It promotes a steady state of mind, makes keeping your wits about you simpler. There are other methods to accomplish the same, but… it seems to come naturally to you. Understanding the intricacies of your mind is the first step to defending it."

"You should know that an endorsement of my habits could lead to strained relations with the other students."

"Then don't tell them. And I'll know if you do."

The two had reached Lord Syrosk's chambers within the Academy. Nestled deeper within and less exposed than the students' arrangement, the locked door the two found themselves in front of was rather unassuming. As much reverence he had placed in his master, Lorrik had forgotten that Syrosk wasn't exactly in a place of high regard within the Academy. When the Sith Lord opened the door, the interior didn't depart much from its exterior design.

The initial chamber was barren. Of furniture, of additions of any sort. Merely a compact room composed entirely of gray surfaces. The metallic walls offered no recesses, no shadows from the dim light in the ceiling's center, merely two doors leading to unknown extensions of the Sith's dwelling.

"I like what you've done with the place," Lorrik joked.

"Sit down. There, in the center," Syrosk directed, paying no attention to the Human's jibe.

The inquisitor complied without another word. He slowly lowered himself upon the cold, smooth floor. He bent his knees in the traditional meditative stance and kept his attention focused ahead, awaiting further instruction. In the center of the small chamber, Lorrik waited patiently for his master to walk into view, but eventually found that he had no intention of doing so. He puzzled over the matter as the Sith Lord hid, lurked, in a place smaller than his own bedroom. Lorrik thought to turn his head, but steadied himself, keeping his eyes and mind utterly focused.

"Now, close your eyes," Syrosk instructed.

Lorrik complied.

"Now, open your eyes."

Lorrik complied once more. However, upon opening his eyes, Lorrik found himself not within the dark, compact chamber, but within a vast, unending, white void.


	50. 2-24 Minds

**Chapter Twenty Four: Minds**

Emptiness. Nothingness. An enduring, unceasing blankness in all directions. Looking down, Lorrik cast no shadow, but stood on solid footing upon some perfect surface. Some immaculate material. Like something out of his dreams.

Lorrik looked around, seeing his master calming standing behind him. "Where are we?"

"Our bodies are still within my chambers," Syrosk explained. "This is the realm of the mind."

"Whose mind? Yours or mine?

"Good question."

Lord Syrosk approached his apprentice, each step of his armored boots echoing, pounding against the inquisitor's senses. In no time, the Sith Lord was directly in front of him, his vision blocked by the master's chest plate.

"Should I-" Lorrik began before being interrupted by an armored fist being driven across his cheek, sending him crashing to the floor.

The apprentice stumbled upon the ground, arms struggling to lift himself from the perfectly smooth terrain. A cough followed. Then blood. Lorrik spit out a good pool of it, staining the white surface beneath him. His arms straightened, locked in place beneath his body as he stared at the red splotch.

Syrosk lowered himself, crouching next to the floored Human. "Why are you bleeding? Why are you in pain? This isn't your actual body. This is all an illusion. A manifestation of the mind."

The Sith Lord raised himself, then delivered a heavy kick to the apprentice's gut, eliciting a sharp yelp from the inquisitor as he rolled away, cradling his abdomen. Writhing on the ground, his vision began to blur. Things went dark. His eyes closed. His ears began to pick up the signs of faint whispers. Murmurs. Opening his eyes, he saw a blurred figure standing over him. The image cleared. It wasn't Syrosk. It was his partner.

"Jresh…"

The warrior extended a hand. The inquisitor accepted it. With a firm bond secured between companions, Lorrik raised himself as Jresh pulled him up. Just as the Human was about to regain his footing, the warrior offered a smile before offering his free hand in the form of a punch to the gut. His reflex was to bend forward, but was incapable as the Pureblood gripped the back of his head and pulled it back.

"You have no friends here!" Syrosk's raspy voice emanated from Jresh's mouth.

Lorrik grabbed and slapped at the arm tugging his hairs to no avail. Releasing his grip, the warrior shoved the inquisitor away with the flat of his boot. Lorrik shuffled off, taking disheveled steps with legs that threatened to collapse at any moment. He came to a halt. Steadied himself. Looked back to see Syrosk staring at him with his usual cold, eternal stare.

"Your mind has been compromised," Syrosk explained. "You cannot trust your senses. Your memories. Your feelings. Until you are able to fight… until you are able to gain control of your mind… there is nothing but hardship. Nothing but pain. Your opponent will turn good thoughts into bad ones. Bad ones into worse ones. Pain of mind will translate to pain of body. You die here…"

Syrosk's hand swung from his waist. From it extended the crimson blade of his lightsaber.

"I die for real…" Lorrik muttered, tired, exasperated.

"Precisely. And you've nothing to rely on but yourself."

Without another word, Syrosk charged his apprentice. Lorrik panicked, reaching for a weapon of his own. There was none. His training saber hadn't made the transition from his master's chambers to his mindscape, no matter how much he wished it had. Lorrik had no means of defending himself, and the Sith Lord was already bearing down upon him.

A wide swing of the blade. Lorrik ducked. Another. Lorrik ducked again. With each subsequent swing, the treacherous beam of death inched closer and closer. The dexterity of inquisitor's battered torso had reached its limits. The Human instead focused on running. His back toward his master, Lorrik began to run as fast as he could. Limbs flailing, lungs failing, the inquisitor didn't know where he was going or how long he could keep it up. The vast whiteness that surrounded him didn't alter with his movement. Checking his flank for the slightest of moments, Lorrik found himself without a pursuer. No one… nothing behind him.

When his eyes returned forward, they were blinded by the crimson light fast approaching his face. Sliding to the ground, Lorrik narrowly missed the attack of his materialized master. At the imposing figure's feet, Lorrik looked up with fear, like a bug beneath his master's crushing foot. Another swipe of the blade came down on him, carving an arc into the pristine ground as he rolled away. The inquisitor raised himself with haste, promptly returning to his retreat.

"You must take control!" Syrosk shouted at him. "You cannot take control by running away!"

Lorrik stopped dead in his tracks. He began to take in deep breaths. The expected pain in his expanding lungs never manifested. The taste of blood was gone from his mouth. His legs straightened. Then his torso. His stance was rigid. Adamant. Renewed. Slowly, he turned to face his master. The two figures stood, opposing one another. No words. No movements. Just two Sith. Two forces.

The Sith Lord stood with his saber at his side. Lorrik still possessed no weapon, but he exuded confidence. Syrosk charged at the inquisitor with one final maneuver. Raising his weapon high, the Sith Lord brought down the crimson blade with all his power. Lorrik didn't step aside. Didn't dodge. Instead, he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was greeted with a smiling master. Looking up, Lorrik saw his right hand raised above his head, gripping the blade of the ignited saber, impeding its path.

"A lightsaber is merely one tool in the Sith's arsenal…" Syrosk began.

"One just as potent, is the Sith's mind," Lorrik finished. Relinquishing his grip, Lorrik pulled his two hands in tightly, before shoving them forward, releasing a tremendous Force wave, sending his master flying backward. Just as he was about to land, however, Lorrik puzzled as Syrosk instead disappeared entirely without a trace. Desperately looking around, the inquisitor saw that he was completely alone. Surrounded by the vast nothingness alongside no one else. "Did I do it? Did I win?"

"You tell us."

A voice. A familiar voice. A much too familiar voice. Lorrik shot around to see two figures standing side by side. One garbed in white robes, the other in black, their faces concealed by raised hoods. The figures raised their heads and locked eyes with the inquisitor. Lorrik was starting himself in the eyes. Twice over.

"Who are you?" Lorrik asked.

"We are you," said the figures in unison.

"There are infinite paths open to you," said the white.

"And yet there are only two," said the black.

"The path of light."

"And the path of darkness."

"Though the paths may cross and intercede."

"They are wholly separate… and incompatible."

"The light burns the darkness."

"The darkness consumes the light."

"Two forces, locked in eternal conflict."

"If you welcome both, you will be destroyed."

"You must choose."

"You must choose."

"Submit to the light."

"Give in to the darkness."

"There is no good."

"No evil."

"Only the Force," the two said in unison. "We offer you the choice."

"Serve the Force. Serve the light."

"Serve the Force. Serve the darkness."

Lorrik's gaze darted between the two figures, staring them down with a harsh glare. "I am Sith. I do not serve the Force… the Force serves me!"

"That is not an option," the two declared. The two figures reached for their belts in unison, each unhooking a lightsaber. Light brandished a blue blade. Darkness a red one. "You must choose whom you serve."

"Whom I serve? You two obviously aren't me," Lorrik muttered, closing his eyes. With a deep breath Lorrik reached for his waist. Something new was there. Something metallic. Something personal. In one deft motion, Lorrik whipped the object from his belt and with a flick of his wrist the sound of a lightsaber igniting resonated in his ears. Opening his eyes, the sharp glow of the purple blade extended from his hand, bringing with it a continuous hum. "If you knew anything about me… you'd know don't have a high opinion of servitude."

Black made the first move. A quick thrust of the saber, intending to pierce Lorrik's heart. Deflected. White followed. A whirling strike, more flashy than effective. He locked sabers with the inquisitor as Black regained his footing. Electricity began to arc between the dark one's fingertips. He held his hand close before jutting out his clawed digits, a torrent of electric energy surging toward Lorrik. Shoving White back, the inquisitor intercepted the lightning with the tip of his saber. With a forceful push of his free hand, Lorrik sent the dark one backward, breaking the energetic chain. White was back, lashing out with a serene flurry of blows. The crashing sounds of saber on saber contact resonated throughout the void. Black recovered, and returned to the fray with a leaping charge.

The three figures combated, two against one. White striking with smooth, wide arcs and showy acrobatics. Black striking with quick, lethal jabs and furious movements. Lorrik countering every move with haste and utmost skill. Calm and collected. Fierce and determined. Attacking. Defending. In total control. With no progress being made, the two attackers backed off. The three had returned to simply staring at one another. The two figures disengaged, sheathing their lightsabers. Lorrik did the same. The duo wasn't finished, however. They each extended their right hands, and Lorrik felt an invisible Force weighing down on him, growing more powerful with each passing second.

It was too much. The combined efforts of the beings of light and darkness had overcome the inquisitor's defenses. A great weight beat down on his shoulders and eventually covered his entire body. His feet were firmly planted, but the Human's stance could remain adamant no longer. Slowly, he began to bend. Began to crumble under the pressure. Lower, and lower his head fell. His legs began to bend, until finally he was forced to his knees.

Lorrik's hands clenched into fists, then they violently snapped open. Thrusting his arms forward, his clawed hands reached out toward the two figures. Slowly, the beings of light and darkness found it harder to focus their energies upon Lorrik. Their outstretched hands rescinded, turning their attention instead to their own throats. Tugging at the collars of their robes, the two figures made gasping and choking motions. Lorrik rose from his knees, and the duo rose with him, their feet leaving the ground as they clutched at their necks. The inquisitor offered one final look into each of their eyes before he clenched his hands and sent the two figures crashing into the ground. Lorrik watched as the beings of light and darkness dissolved, leaving only their empty robes behind.

The inquisitor turned his head when the felt a hand being placed on his shoulder. It was the armored glove of Lord Syrosk. "That… is how you take control."

"Is that it?" Lorrik asked, catching his breath. "Our training over for the day?"

Syrosk let out one of his usual chortles. "Oh my, no. We've only been here roughly twenty seconds. In real world time anyway. We're not leaving until we've had a full day's training."


	51. 2-25 Achievements

**Chapter Twenty Five: Achievements**

The day was coming to an end. Jresh sat alone in the suite, until a firm series of knocks on the door broke his meditation. The Pureblood was quick to rise and answer the call. As the door rescinded, the warrior was greeted with the imposing sight of his master standing directly in front of him. More harrowing was the robed figure he had draped over his shoulder. It was Lorrik.

Without a word, Lord Syrosk unslung the unconscious apprentice and tossed him into the arms of his companion. Jresh deftly caught the inquisitor, and gently laid his limp body down a short distance into the suite. Looking up, the Pureblood found the cold stare of his master beating down upon him.

"Get some rest. You'll face the same tomorrow," Syrosk informed and retreated from view.

Jresh focused the entirety of his attention on his fallen partner. "Lorrik! Lorrik are you okay?"

A soft voice rung out within his head. "Never been better." It was Lorrik's. Jresh watched a smile crept onto the inquisitor's face, and matched it with one of his own.

* * *

The process continued with each new day. An apprentice would enter their master's chambers whilst the rest waited and planned for the future. Each day, a student would submit themselves to Syrosk's mental training, and each day a new student would emerge taking their place. Increased strength. Increased willpower. A new outlook. Each would face their master. Face themselves. Face their past, their future.

The initial round of training was complete, and the apprentices had begun construction of a potent tool in their arsenals. One that would not be alone. In the following months, the students would come to possess their own personal lightsabers. Proper implementation came with proper planning. The students weren't allowed to touch any more materials until they had presented their master a proper set of plans. Length, width, style. Power cells, handgrips, adjustors. Everything accounted for in their construction.

Each apprentice forged a weapon as much an individual as they were. Unique in their function and makeup. The result of one's pouring their heart and soul into their craftsmanship. Each lightsaber a manifestation of its wielders physical and mental capabilities. Each a symbol of their personality. A weapon as stern as its master. As stylish. As smooth. As brutal.

Training was kicking into high gear. With each new trial, Lord Syrosk pushed the limits of his students even further, edging them closer to exhaustion and death than the day before. And through their pain and anguish, the apprentices connected with their partners. Bonded. Shared knowledge and secrets. Pushed each other forward. Picked each other up when they faltered.

For months, they trained. For months, they endured. For months, they thrived.

Gone were the eight students, lost amongst the Academy workings. Nameless. Faceless.

Now, they had advanced to a state worthy of their hardships.

No more uniforms. No more hiding. No more fear.

They had achieved control. They had achieved freedom. They had achieved ascension.


	52. 0-01 Digs (part 1)

**Part 0: Memories**

**Chapter One: Digs (Part One)**

_Don't think. Just run._

The sun beat down on a vacant stretch of land. Flat. Sparse vegetation. Whatever life thrived here had long since moved on. Emerging from the flatlands, an imposing mountain range. And carved into the face of that mountain, a tunnel, not intended to reach the other side, but to traverse the depths below. The mouth of the man-made cave was wide and tall, granting passage not only to the denizens of the planet, but their wide assortment of tools. Resting mechanical excavators sat outside the mouth of the dig site as the indentured workforce toiled in the darkness below.

From the mouth emerged a figure. A child. Body in full motion, sprinting from the cave toward some intended location. Body and mind focused solely on one goal. Movement. Tucked beneath his arms, some round object wrapped in cloth. Arm waving, feet kicking up dust with each hasty step, the boy had his eyes set upon a lone building in the distance. As he continued to run, there was no one else behind him, but as he neared his target more and more people began to manifest.

Sprouting from the land of desolation, a lone monument to wealth and splendor rose and spread itself out for all to see. At its feet, a steady arrangement of armed guards surrounded it. Seeing the approaching boy, they raised their heads, but not their weapons. They were expecting him. Two men guarded the entrance to the palatial estate, each holding their hands out to halt the child. The boy was hunched over, panting, but kept the wrapped item raised, fully aware of its value. The two guardsmen shared a look before focusing on the package.

One of the guards reached out to take the item, but the boy quickly rescinded it, keeping it tucked close to his chest. The child would only part with it once it was in the hands of its intended recipient. The enforcers shared another look before hesitantly granting the boy entrance to the manor. The child walked with two armed escorts deeper into the halls of the luxurious palace. Utterly well kept, sculptures and artwork lined the walls on either side of the passing group. With each branch, each door, each new chamber, a guard was stationed, ever alert to any threats that might pass their way.

The boy kept his head down, knowing the honor of being granted access to the lord's home, but also knowing the danger of overstaying his welcome. Reaching his intended destination, the boy marveled at the robust chamber he now stood at the precipice of. Rounded walls. High ceiling. A cruel joke of a facsimile to the caves in his mind. Standing within, eager, was Olto Yerrig. Human. Businessman. Slave Master.

The man's chamber took a stern departure from the wanton halls before it, for it was a room of purpose. In the place of artwork were charts and maps. Geological surveys, market reports. A series of databanks and terminals were situated awkwardly against the rounded walls. Yerrig immediately took note of the boy entering his premises, and beckoned him with a flurried wave of his hand. The boy rushed forward, basking in the shadow of his master's presence, the top of his head barely making it above the figure's waist. The child dutifully presented his master the item he had so dearly held onto before. Yerrig unwrapped the object and his eyes lit up. Held ever so loftily in the child's hands was a chunk of rock, embedded within were tiny golden crystals that shimmered in the room's light.

Yerrig took the mineral from the boy, who took a step back, kept his arms by his side and his head bowed. "What is your name, boy?"

"L-Lorrik," the child answered, keeping his eyes upon the floor.

"Right… Velash's child. The Runner."

"Yes, sir."

Yerrig held the chunk of mineral between himself and the ceiling, turning it over and over within his hand, admiring it with absolute pride. "Run along, boy. You and your family don't have to work for the next three days."

"Thank you. Thank you, sir," Lorrik offered alongside the repeated bows of his head. Yerrig shooed the boy away and he was escorted from the estate, leaving the man alone with his prize.

There were movements throughout the mining operation as the hours passed. Yerrig began moving and allocating his resources, checking and double checking the preparatory facets of the operation's next stage. The mine was shut down for the day, and its workers left the caves only to see Yerrig's men lining the entrance in greater force than usual. Each worker was stopped before they could return to the tenements, checked for any unsanctioned holdings. Yerrig would not abide by any of his possessions stealing any of his other possessions.

The day turned to night. Lorrik and his parents returning to their housing, a single room meant for two, packed in alongside hundreds more just like it. Table. Two chairs. Bunk bed. Simple. Sparse. Cheap.

The two Human adults, two ordinary plain folk, sat at the table, eating their allotted rations for the evening. Lorrik meanwhile had taken his place atop a layer of blankets placed upon the floor beneath his parents' bed. Dark. Secluded. His sanctuary. He slowly munched on his rations, face lit by a compact generator hooked up to an electronic candle. The boy's full interest lied not with his food, but in the book he was pouring over by candlelight. Contraband, but the kid knew how to keep it hidden.

"It seems Yerrig finally found was he was looking for," the father whispered.

"You know what this means…" the mother whispered back, trying to hide her growing concern.

"Yeah… yeah, I know."

"If he knows there's something valuable down there, he's going to push us even harder."

"I know."

"Lorrik's birthday is coming up soon. He'll be old enough to work in the mines."

"I know. But no one else needs to. He still looks young. Maybe… maybe Yerrig will let him stay a runner," the father reasoned. The mother took a hold of her husband's hand. The two locked eyes, sharing a look that confirmed that both of them knew their son would be working alongside them soon. "We have a few days of rest. We shouldn't waste them."

"But we can't just pretend like everything's going to be okay."

"I know that. But we need to be strong. For his sake. Together, we can make it through. We can survive." The two shared a loving look before casting a sideward glance to their son, mind still locked in the pages of his book.

Lorrik knew better than to intrude on his parents conversations. As cramped as the domicile was, there were no secrets within, as much as they may have wanted to believe there were. Lorrik heard every word spoken by his mother and father. That night and each night before it. He knew what awaited him. He knew that it was he who would have to be strong. He didn't desire to be a burden. He wanted to be able to lend his strength to his family.

The child held his prized book firmly within his hands. The thing was a peculiar piece. A bound volume, information printed upon thin durasheets, rather than stored within some datapad. Vulnerable to moisture, Lorrik took every precaution in handling it, lest its contents be ruined. Turning the page, he read on with fascination.

In bold letters, the top of the page read, 'Chapter Three: Naga Sadow'.


	53. 0-02 Digs (part 2)

**Chapter Two: Digs (Part Two)**

_Darkness overtakes the light._

The Velash family traversed deeper into Yerrig's mine, accompanied by an assortment of fellow indentured laborers of various species. Mother and father walked shoulder to shoulder, their son directly in front of them. An armed escort led the line and closed off their tail. Black clad, faces like shadows, eyes like demons.

The lights lining the sides of the caves led the workforce deeper into the unnatural caverns. The lower they descended, the less 'clean' the shaping of the tunnel. They eventually turned down toward an expeditionary dig sit, where the only goal was to dig deeper, regardless of access or stability. The walls crept in on the inhabitants, threatening to crush, to suffocate. But deeper they went.

The group eventually made it to their designated dig site. They unpacked their tools under the watchful eyes of Yerrig's enforcers. Compact, handheld mining lasers. Useful for cutting along natural faults, not as useful for armed revolutions. Yerrig was utterly invested in a long term operation, with as few bumps as possible.

The line dispersed as the workers took their places amongst the wall. The Velash family worked side by side, ready to cut into the softly glistening rock. The cutting laser was heavy in Lorrik's hand, but the comforting hand of his father placed upon his shoulder offered him the strength to continue.

"Start low. Work your way up. You can rest the base on your knee," the father whispered, calm and methodical. "Make as few trips to the cart as possible. Gauge what you can carry. Don't overstrain your arms or your legs. Keep your balance. Understand?" The boy offered an affirming nod.

Work progressed without incident. Chunks of minerals were excised from the cavern walls and carted back to the surface. Everyone did their work, and they would retreat at the end of the day. But the work proved too much for one. Lorrik wasn't used to working in the sparsely oxygenated environment, he was only ever forced to run between the top levels and the exterior of the dig site. His lungs were failing. His eyes stung from the mining laser's harsh beam. His body grew weaker. Eventually, the boy went numb, his tool leaving his hand and impacting against the rocky floor, shattering the item's casing.

Everyone around him took notice. The father attempted to rile the boy back to his feet, to no avail. One of the enforcers was approaching. The mother took over caring for the boy, as the father left his station to impede the guard.

"Get back to work," the guard commanded of the father.

"In a moment, we just have to help our son."

"We'll deal with him. Return to your station!"

The father placed a gentle hand on the guard. "Please. He's just a boy. If you hurt him, he won't be able to work at all."

The guard shoved the father back against the wall. "Don't interfere!"

"Leave my son alone!" the father shouted, delivering a furious punch to the enforcer's jaw. The guard reeled and stumbled a few steps back. The father found two rifles trained on him, and soon a third when the guard he struck recovered. He raised his hands in the air, surrendering himself. With all of Yerrig's men focused on him, they had forgotten all about the collapsed child in the arms of his mother. Just what the father wanted.

With all the attention placed on the father, no one noticed one of the other slaves holding a large chunk of rock in his hands. Not what the father wanted.

One of the two guards at the site's entrance found the back of his skull caved in by a stone wielding Evocii. The standing enforcer fired a shot from his blaster rifle, dropping the rebellious slave. More of the workers stepped from their stations, the two remaining guards ordering them to halt. The father returned to his family, crouching, shielding his child.

Lorrik slowly came out of his stupor, blinking erratically, seeing and hearing the signs of struggle unfolding at the dig site. One of the workers was wrestling with the entrance guard. The two both had their hands on the weapon between them. A bolt rang out, impacting against the cavern walls. Another rang out. Then another. Then a howl of pain rang in Lorrik's ear. His mother was clutching at her arm, blood pouring down it.

"No! Nononono!" the father rambled, looking at his wife's wound. Lorrik was lightheaded. Everything around him was moving too fast. Then, too slow. Sight was replaced with a blur. Sound was replaced with a muddled hum. Until it was interrupted by a loud bang. Another bolt rang out from the guard's weapon, hitting a piece of larger mining equipment against the wall. The fuel source ignited. The machine exploded, knocking the inhabitants of the dig site to the ground. The ones who survived the blast, at least.

Lorrik emerged from his father's embrace to see the dig site had stilled. Bodies populated the ground, unmoving. The silence, and the stillness, was cut short when the foundations beneath him began to shake. The explosion had upset the dig site's stability. Lorrik found himself being dragged to his feet by his father, a stream of blood pouring over his right eye. The father then turned his attention to the mother, carefully lifting her by her good arm.

The three were alone in a collapsing corridor deep below ground. The father had lost an eye. The mother had lost an arm. The son was losing everything. The three moved out of their dig area with a careful haste as the walls and ceilings began to lose their structural integrity. The father knew that they would eventually reach the main tunnel connecting the entire operation, where there would be plenty of guards and plenty of questions. The family edged their way forward, uplifting one another along the way.

Stones began to fall from the ceiling behind them. Their pace was insufficient, more and more of the path behind them succumbing to the falling debris. The child stumbled, sending the entire family to the ground. Unable to rise, the parents instead spent their last moments embracing their child as the world crumbled around them. As the rocks above them loosened, the family bowed their heads and said their last goodbyes to one another before the final stone fell.

Lorrik was tucked beneath his parents. He knew they intended to shield him, his body and his eyes, so that he didn't have to witness what was to come. But there was a crack in the shadows. A glimpse upward. A view of a boulder, hovering just above his family. Lorrik's parents were confused, rather than relieved, when they found that death had not come. Breaking their embrace to look up, they were astounded to see the rock that had threatened to crush them was hovering of its own accord above their heads. Snatching their child by the arm, they moved out from under the stone just as it continued its resounding fall to where they once huddled.

The caves had ceased their tremors. An eerie silence permeated the corridor as the Velash family looked upon the stone riddled path they had just escaped. They had survived, but only just, and by seemingly miraculous means. Before they could ponder their position any further, Lorrik passed out in his parents' arms.


	54. 0-03 Digs (part 3)

**Chapter Three: Digs (Part Three)**

"Can anyone explain to me… just what the hell is going on?"

Yerrig's words stung the ears of every enforcer wearing a comm, the majority of which had gathered at the mouth of the excavation site. The mountain had quieted, but the workforce had not. Panicked slaves rushed from the opening into the sights of the armed guards. Their weapons raised alongside their extended palms, the escaping individuals had no choice but to stop.

The sparks of revolution died in Sector Dorn along with the majority of its inhabitants, but the explosive shock affected the other sectors, shaking their foundations and crumbling their supports. No one was sure of the cause, only that to remain underground meant death. The enforcers eagerly eyed the entrance to the mines, pouring over every detail of every individual that passed into their sights. When two battered and bleeding adults emerged alongside their child, the guards believed they could get some answers.

And enforcer cast his helmed gaze upon the Velash family. "You three!"

"Please, you have to help them," the father begged.

"Not until we get some answers. Yerrig's orders."

"They are in no condition to answer questions!" the father declared through gritted teeth. "We are the last survivors of Sector Dorn. If want information, you get them some damned help!"

The guard gave in to the father's demand, leading them away from the bedlam to a place of care. A feeling of relief washed over the father, even if he began to see the world around him blur. His feet ached against the stern ground, but he'd not falter before he knew his family was out of harm's way. But he knew the threat of harm still loomed over them all, so long as Yerrig had questions.

* * *

Lorrik's eyes opened, the unnatural light of the iridescent ceiling lights beaming down upon him. The flat of his back rested uncomfortably against a medical bed inside an unfamiliar room. Regaining his senses, the boy looked to his right to see his mother resting, a bandage encircling her left arm. He looked to his left to see only an empty bed. Hushed murmurs emanated from the hall outside. A frosted window made up the majority of the wall lying beyond the child's feet. Lorrik counted four figures. As the child struggled to sit up, one of the figures was being escorted away by the other three. In no time, no one remained. Only his mother and himself, and the silence.

* * *

Lorrik's father sat in a darkened room, beset by armed guards behind his uncomfortable chair. He had been waiting, basking in silence and shadows. Stewing in them. Bandages wrapped his cranium, covering his right eye. With his left, the father saw his silhouette planted upon the wall when the door behind him crept open with a shrill squeak. Slow, measured footsteps impacted against the hard floor one by one until a man stood directly in front of the father's gaze. It was Yerrig.

"I want to know… EXACTLY… what happened in the mines today."

The father kept his good eye straightened, "Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. We followed the line. We worked on the line. Everything was going fine, until…"

"Until?"

"Until I dropped my mining tool," the father explained. "It struck the ground, shattered its casing. The ordeal caught the guards' attention. One of the others took advantage. Took a chunk of rock. Assaulted a guard. Others joined in. I just wanted to protect my family."

"One of my men is assaulted with a rock… OF COURSE! That explains why there were reports of cave ins in three different sectors! You're not giving be anything here Velash!"

"One of the men attacking the guards, tried to take his blaster, they fought over it, blindly fired around them, accidentally struck a power cell, it must have been placed near a fault, thing explodes, caves start shaking, rocks start falling, my family barely makes it out alive. There! That's all I know!"

"How do I know you and your family didn't have anything to do with this little… uprising in Sector Dorn…"

"We were just transferred to the line! It was our son's first day, we wouldn't do anything to risk-"

"Exactly. Father, wants to see his son protected. Colludes with fellow slaves to stage a rebellion. Isn't that right?"

"I would never-"

The father reeled as Yerrig's back hand struck his cheek. "Do NOT lie to me." Yerrig placed a hand to his ear. "Everyone. Search the homes of every worker assigned to Sector Dorn. Now!" Yerrig returned to the father, gripping the arms of his chair, staring the man directly in the eye. "I will find out if there's more to this than you are saying. I will find out if-"

Yerrig stopped. There was a chatter in his ear. "Sir, there's an unscheduled vessel landing outside."

"Outside? What do you mean?"

* * *

Yerrig stormed from his domicile into the company of his league of enforcers, who had their weapons trained on the starship that had inconveniently landed in his courtyard. Large and imposing. Black and gray. A Fury-class interceptor.

The entrance ramp lowered, and a lone figure began his casual descent. A Human in a vibrant red coat over a suit of battle armor. The young adult possessed a pristine image in both garb and face, fair skin unburdened by toil, short blond hair unburned by the passing breeze.

A pair of Yerrig's enforcers surged forward, intent on impeding the intruder's advance. The man in the red coat slipped between them, politely pushing them aside with his hands, caring little for their threats, or their weapons. The intruder calmly pressed forward, spotting Olto Yerrig amongst his entourage.

"I presume you to be in charge of this operation," the advancing figure stated. He was utterly smooth and polite. Soft yet utterly dominating in his tone and presence.

"I don't know who you are, but-" Yerrig spoke up.

"Oh, you know exactly who I am. The more prudent question would be, why am I here? Well, I am here representing a very powerful man. A man interested in peacefully acquiring one of your assets."

"A Sith. You must be interested in my crystals."

The red-coated Human let out a soft chuckle. "Whatever it is you're digging for, it serves us no purpose. What you seek is deemed valuable in measures of pithy factors, not true merit. No, my master is interested in something else. Someone else."

"We're in the middle of something here. I'll kindly ask you to leave, before my men are forced to do something most unkind," Yerrig threatened. A smile refused to leave the Sith's face.

"Tell me about the incident, earlier today."

"I never mentioned any incident."

"No. No you didn't. I'd like to meet with the survivors."

"If you think you can just-" Yerrig mumbled before the Sith planting his firm hand upon his shoulder. The entourage immediately reacted, raising and aiming their weapons at the Sith.

The red-coated figure tightened his grip. "If you want to keep your loses for today confined to your workforce," the Sith whispered, "I'd suggest you take me to the survivors."

Yerrig hesitantly waved for his men to lower their weapons.

* * *

The father saw his outline planted upon the wall once more when the door behind him crept open with a shrill squeak. Slow, measured footsteps impacted against the hard floor one by one until a man stood directly in front of the father's gaze. It was someone unfamiliar. A lithe, vibrantly garbed Human knelt down in front of him, locked his gaze with his own.

"I'd like to know more about your son."


	55. 0-04 Digs (part 4)

**Chapter Four: Digs (Part Four)**

"My name is Vai Thorel. I represent Lord Tash, a very powerful figure in the Sith Empire. I'm not sure what a man in your position knows of galactic affairs…"

"I know who you people are," the father softly admitted.

"That is good. Then we can jump right into why I am here. We have reason to believe, that there is a child here of remarkable talents. A child who is gifted, in the ways of the Force. Your child."

The father's eye shifted. "It's only been a couple of hours, how could you possibly…"

"My master and his associates are gifted with certain… insights… into events of great importance. Premonitions," Thorel explained, "that led us here. We saw a child. Beset by chaos, danger, and death. And resting within, was the power to stop it. You and your family were the only survivors of a catastrophic event. And not by chance. Your son saved you, didn't he?"

The father's eye shifted once more. "I can't explain what happened. We were trying to escape the mines, but the ceiling was caving in all around us. When we were about to be crushed… the rocks stopped falling. One, remained suspended in mid-air. I didn't know what to make of it."

"That… is the power of the Force. Your son is special, Mr. Velash. He possesses an affinity, one that my master would like to see nurtured."

"I know of the Sith. I know what they are capable of. Death and pain…"

"What we offer is freedom. How your child utilizes it is up to him. We intend to enroll him into the Korriban Academy, a place of honor amongst the Sith Order, where his abilities will be honed and trained, so that he might find his own place in the galaxy, free of restrictions. I've met with Yerrig. Whatever actions to come regarding your family will not be pleasant. With us, your child will be safe. Your child will no longer be a slave. Do what is best for your child."

* * *

Lorrik sat at the side of his medical bed, legs hanging over the edge as he worriedly watched his mother rest. His heart began to race when he noticed two figures approaching on the other side of the glass. When the door to the room opened, panic turned to energetic relief at the sight of his father entering. Jumping from his bed, Lorrik rushed forward and wrapped his arms around his father, ignoring the unfamiliar figure trailing him.

The father guided the son to his mother's bedside. As she slowly wakened from her slumber, a smile overcame her face at the sight of her family being okay, relatively speaking. She looked around for any of Yerrig's men, seeing only the peculiar armored and robed figure who had taken an observatory position leaning against the door.

"Garen… who is…" the mother softly muttered.

"Meylin, save your strength," the father replied, gently brushing the hair from his wife's forehead. "There is someone here, who is interested in our son."

"Our son… what do you…"

"You saw what happened in the mines. We were saved from certain death. And we both know how. Our son is gifted."

The mother looked to Garen's side, where a curious Lorrik stood in silent observation. Patting her son on the head with her good arm, the mother struggled to retain her smile. "Lorrik could have died today… he needs to recover. He's in no condition to leave…"

"He's in no condition to stay either. Yerrig will not forgive us for what happened in our sector. We can't be sure of how he'll react, but we can ensure our son's safety."

"So we just give him to the first mysterious figure who offers to take him off our hands? This is our son," Meylin offered with a hushed declaration.

"That is exactly why I am doing this. This man can give our son a new life. He'll finally have his freedom. He won't have to toil in the mines for ten more years."

"I don't want to lose my son," the mother stated, almost whimpering.

"Neither do I," the father whispered. The two parents locked eyes as tears begun to form beneath them. The mother looked to her side, only to see Lorrik had slipped away. Peering beyond the father, Meylin saw her son standing directly in front of the mysterious figure.

"You're a Sith, aren't you?" Lorrik directly asked the man in the red coat.

The Sith knelt down and greeted the child with a warm smile. "That's correct. Are you familiar with us?"

"A little bit," the boy bashfully admitted. "I have a history book. It talks about old Sith Lords and their adventures hundreds of years ago."

"Really? What kind of adventures?" Thorel asked with a tone of genuine interest.

"Well, I just finished a chapter… on Naga Shadow."

"Oh, Lord Sadow. He is an interesting one," Thorel replied, straightening his posture. "Did your parents get you that book?"

"No. I got it from one of the other workers. I had to learn how to read first… which took a while since my parents couldn't teach me."

"You've an inquisitive mind. One that yearns for knowledge. A valuable trait."

"I really like reading, even though dad says we aren't supposed to have any books," Lorrik admitted. "But I keep it hidden under by bed."

"Oh no." Garen raised himself from his wife's side. "Yerrig's men are searching our home. If they find Lorrik's book, they might think we were involved in the uprising! We have to-"

Thorel placed a firm hand on the father's shoulders, looking him directly in the eyes. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine. Stay with your wife. I'll take care of this." Returning to Lorrik, the Sith knelt down to his level. "Can you take me to your home?"

Lorrik nodded and extended his hand, prompting the Sith to take hold. The child led the way, escorting the red-coated figure from the premises with haste. Garen, meanwhile, took a knee by his wife's side and took a soft hold of her hand.

"Everything… everything will be fine," the father whispered, pressing the back of his wife's hand to his lips.

* * *

Lorrik led Thorel by the hand down the thin corridor that ran outside the minimalistic rooms the workers called their homes. Doors were opened on either side of the running pair, enforcers rummaging through the sparse belongings of the late workers of Sector Dorn. Fast approaching his own home, Lorrik saw a guard wielding a blaster rifle stationed directly outside his domicile. The guard raised a hand, intent on stopping the two individuals. Lorrik's movement ceased. Those of the Sith did not. The enforcer raised his weapon, but found its path inhibited by Thorel's hand gripping it by the barrel. The Sith closed in on the guard, and stared into his eyes with a cold, unceasing stare. The enforcer was frozen, unable to act.

"Leave," Thorel directed, and not a moment after relinquishing his grip, the enforcer complied. A second guard emerged from the room, grasping the child's book in his hand.

"Hey! Give that back!" Lorrik shouted at the perceived thief.

Focusing the entirety of his attention on the child, the enforcer knocked the boy back with the foot of his boot, sending him crumbling to the floor. The guard took another step toward the child before succumbing to an intense pressure forming at his neck. Lorrik watched as his book fell from the enforcers hand as he used it instead to furiously grip at his own throat. His breaths became more and more struggled, until the man collapsed, granting the child a full view of the Sith standing behind him, hand extended in a clawed motion. Lorrik shuffled on the ground to retrieved his prized book, holding it close as the Sith knelt next to him once more.

"You and I possess the same gift. Within you, there is an untapped power dwelling, waiting to be released. Within you, rests the potential to become a Sith. The potential to break your shackles and finally be free. Does that sound like something that would interest you?" Lorrik hesitantly nodded his head. "I can take you to the Korriban Academy, where you will learn the ways of the Sith Order, where you will have untold amounts of knowledge at your fingertips."

"What about my parents?"

"I can only take you from this place. But if you agree to come with me, I can ensure they are taken care of."

"Okay," Lorrik replied, offering his hand once more to the Sith.

Thorel looked at the book tucked beneath the child's other arm. A children's book. A glamorized look at the history of the Sith. A thing of colorful lies, meant for lowly, malleable minds.

"Come on. Let's go," the Sith directed with a cheerful smile.

* * *

Lorrik and the Sith returned to Garen and Meylin, where the family trio exchanged their final goodbyes, each individual believing themselves to be doing what was best for the other. The parents wanted to see their son off to a better life, the son wanted to see his parents treated better within the life they couldn't escape. Thorel departed with the son alongside one last declaration that he was good to his word.

Venturing back toward his starship, Yerrig remained amongst his entourage outside in the plaza. Alone with the Sith's ship, they should have been in a place of power, and yet, found themselves utterly submissive to the intruder's will. Thorel gently waved for the child board the ship while he calmly approached the discontented businessman.

Yerrig's eye began to twitch. "If you think you can just walk away from this…"

"Shut up," Thorel stoically directed. "I can offer you a sum of credits for the child. Usual going rate for a healthy young boy. In exchange, your independent operation here will remain independent, with no interference from the Sith Empire. There are, however, some conditions that you will need to uphold. Most importantly, no harm is to come to the boy's parents. Ever. From now until the end of time. They will not die in a mining accident, they will not succumb to disease, they will not be victims of some unfortunate accident. You will not trade them. You will not give them away. You will keep them here. Even if the excavation fails. Even if the mine is emptied. They do not step off this planet. If you fail to do so, the full force of my master's fury will come down upon your insignificant little operation and everything you know and love with be burned until they are less than mere cinders. I control their lives, do… you… understand… me?"

Yerrig offered only the stunned movement slightly resembling a nod.

"Good. My master may have further interest in your mining. We'll stay in contact."

The Sith boarded the vessel with no further complication, departing the planet as Yerrig remained utterly frozen and speechless. Lorrik was heading for the Academy.


	56. 0-05 Secrets (part 1)

**Chapter Five: Secrets (Part One)**

_The sky is on fire._

Over the battleground of a contested ordinance world, Imperial starfighters howled above the heads of marching ground forces. The heavy treads of armored crawlers dug into the mud as they led the forward charge against a weapons depot. Bolts of energy from opposing troopers darted back and forth as the Imperials pressed the retreating Republic line.

Atop a distant hill, an armored figure watched over the unfolding battle through a telescopic visor held to her eyes. The warrior was clad in black plates beset by a matching cloak, only the crimson flesh of her face remaining uncovered. Lowering the binoculars, the Pureblood warrior took the entire scene in as the lambent flames of destruction warmed her young, but determined face. Turning upon her heels, the Sith tossed the visor to the ground, focusing her attention on the facility that stood in front of her. The building had been emptied of its personnel long ago, but not of its contents.

Reaching to her belt, the warrior retrieved not a weapon, but a compact holocommunicator. Holding the device in her palm, the digital image of her superior appeared. Human. Male. Supremely her elder. Layers upon layers of dark and extravagant robes.

"Master, I've arrived at the munitions depot," the Pureblood calmly stated. "The Republic forces have fortified their position, but I'll have the facility secured shortly."

"Wait, my apprentice, Ravek is finishing his task in the adjacent sector," the master slowly rasped. "He can join you in your siege."

"I can handle this myself, Lord Zyos," the Pureblood quick replied, shutting off the comm.

Walking past the threshold of the munitions depot, the warrior calmly made her way deeper into the unpopulated facility. Past the first hall, she entered a stockroom with crates of weaponry and explosive ordinance stacked high and lining each wall. Miniature devices baring flashing red lights had been affixed to the containers at random intervals only minutes prior.

Shedding her outer coat, she laid the garment at her feet before retrieving the lightsaber from her waist. Rotating the weapon in her hand, she offered it a longing stare before tossing it into the center of the storeroom. As the cylinder clanged and slid across the metallic floor, the Pureblood once more turned her attention to her comm device. Turning back toward the entrance, the warrior twisted a dial before setting the comm on a shelf and walking away. The device joined its flashing and beeping compatriots as it began to flash a warning light.

"Liasha, are you in trouble?" a voice called out from the communicator. "We're picking up a distress beacon."

Liasha continued her calm and composed exit out of the facility, free of physical and emotional burden. The Pureblood retained possession of only one single item. Held within her hand, a metallic cylinder far too compact to be a proper weapon. Instead, the nondescript device possessed only a single, vibrant, red button upon its tip.

Once more standing upon the hill overlooking the Imperial invasion, the sights and sounds of war were dying down, though the flames of destruction still lashed out at the sky alongside pillars of black smoke. They'd soon have company. Holding the cylinder within her hand, the warrior took in one last deep breath before triggering the detonator.

Explosions rang out one right after another from deep within the bowels of the munitions depot, consuming the facility in an unrelenting fire that conformed and contorted to the sprawling interior, before releasing a deadly exhaust from the building's mouth. Not a moment later, the depot collapsed upon itself, trapping and sealing any evidence of past occurrences within.

The fire once more warmed the warrior's face as she looked upon her work, basking in the heat emanating from her supposed burial site. Crushing the detonator in her hand, she tossed the wrecked device with a furious throw over the edge of the overlook, where it would land amongst the tracks and footprints of the emptied battlefield below.

Liasha only had so much time to gaze upon the remarkable scene. Keeping her feet upon sturdy ground, the warrior abandoned the premises with haste, making her way toward a nondescript shuttle she had tucked away. The Sith had cut her ties. She had died, so that she might start a new life.

* * *

Over the gentle hills of a fringe Republic colonial world, a flock of migrating birds flapped their wings above a quaint homestead. Constructed upon a serene knoll, the discreet house offered respite amongst the flowing greens that surrounded it. The picturesque home was compact in its design, its interior possessing minimal rooms and partitions.

Entered into by way of the front door, the main living area was populated with sparse sitting arrangements and a circular rug, upon which sat a child. The young boy propped himself up upon his knees, making whooshing noises with his mouth as he waved around a toy starship held within his grasp. Sitting in an armchair in the same room, the boy's father observed the child play with a reserved smile, eyes occasionally darting to the door before returning to his son. The boy possessed a vibrant red skin tone, while his father's was a more muted orange. The elder possessed muted features and a thin build atypical of his heritage. The two were Sith. But not Sith. Not in creed. Not in status. Not in makeup.

The two Purebloods jumped when they heard a knock on the door. The boy hopped to his feet with a wide smile, while the father rose with a more tempered haste. Bringing his finger to his mouth, the father silently hushed his son as he made his way toward the door. Putting his eye to the entrance's viewport, the man breathed a sigh of relief. Opening the door, the man adopted a smile as vibrant as his son's when he laid eyes upon a woman with the same.

"Liasha…" the man muttered as he swung the door open, wrapping his arms around his beloved as they succumbed to an enduring embrace.

"Orbek… it is done. It's finally over," Liasha declared.

"Truly?" Orbek asked with wondrous disbelief.

"Yes," Liasha admitted as the two broke off their tender cuddle. "Zyos and his other apprentices believe I perished in the last campaign. They won't be a bother to us anymore. We've finally escaped the watchful eyes of the Sith. We can finally live a proper life together, with our son."

"Mom!" the child shouted with joy as he ran toward his mother.

"Jresh!" the mother shouted back, catching the boy mid sprint and hoisting him up into the air. Hugging her son close, she gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek before setting him back on the ground. "It's good to be home."


	57. 0-06 Secrets (part 2)

**Chapter Six: Secrets (Part Two)**

The day was growing short as the sky over the homestead adopted a soft orange hue. Inside, the family finished their evening meal, the son retreating to his bedroom whilst the parents remained at the table. Their plates empty and stomachs full, the two shared a moment of contentment as they looked into one another's eyes.

"Still can't believe I'm here to stay, can you?" Liasha said with a warm smile. Having shed her battle attire, the woman actually possessed a gentle aura about her that overpowered even her sturdy, athletic build. As sculpted as she was for conflict, within her own home, she was capable of relaxation. Capable of peace.

The husband took a tender hold of his wife's hand.

"It's understandable, is it not?" Orbek replied, matching his wife's smile. "Then again, I'd have a hard time believing any of the last decade had I not experienced them first hand. At least the worst part is finally over. No more waiting. No more wondering if you were even alive out there. Now we can focus on raising Jresh."

Liasha's gaze lowered to focus on their bonded hands. "You know things will never be simple. For us. For Jresh. We remain on precipitous standings. The Republic fears our kind, and I've not yet fully turned my back on the Empire."

"You didn't make things easier for yourself when you chose to marry the impure Pureblood whose grandfather was exiled for treason." Orbek grinned, whilst the smile faded from Liasha's face.

"Have you… noticed anything with Jresh, yet?" the mother calmly asked.

"No… no signs of Force-sensitivity. Just like his dad," Orbek admitted. "Are you disappointed?"

"No, of course not," Liasha replied, gently rubbing her husband's hand. "But we must know for sure, so that we can take extra precautions."

"If he actually does take after me… at least he should have an easier time fitting in with the colonists."

Liasha hesitated. "We can't be sure of that. People will see the red skin. The budding features upon his face. They'll know from whom he descended. They'll fear him regardless of whether or not he can use the Force."

"Sadly, I think you're right. We've been isolated ever since you left. We've spent the credits you'd send having supplies delivered out here. The boy still hasn't set foot outside the homestead."

"You've done a good job protecting him all this time, physically and emotionally, but we cannot keep hiding forever."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I left so that we could start a new life. But a life lived in fear is no life at all. You've been strong to endure everything that's been thrust upon you. Jresh must be strong as well. I will train him. Force-sensitive or not."

"But he's still just a boy."

"I was but a girl when I was trained in the way of the Sith," Liasha admitted. "He can't remain sheltered. Better he learn the harsh realities of the galaxy from the ones he loves."

Orbek's gaze drifted lower and lower. "I thought all of this was so that we wouldn't have our lives dictated by Imperial standards."

"Don't worry. I'll not force him to endure the things I endured at the Academy. Just enough to set him on the right path."

"A path dominated by pain and hardship," Orbek muttered.

"Pain… is having that which you care about taken away. Hardship… is knowing that there are those who would see you never know love," Liasha explained. "I'll not have my son be a victim. I want him to live, love, and dream, all without fear. But such is not possible without strength. Not in this galaxy…"

The husband let out a soft sigh. "I understand. I more than understand. I guess I just wanted to put off introducing him to all the nonsense that surrounds us for as long as I could."

"The Empire may have turned its back on you, and yours on it, but it has much to teach us. Good and bad. Same with the Republic. But ignoring that which is wrong doesn't make it go away. It's up to us to foster the strength needed to change it."

"You're right," Orbek said with a smile. "I know you only want what's best for Jresh."

"And I know you'll help me in figuring out what's best. You've been a good father. No reason that should change now."

With the day's tasks behind them, the husband and wife would retreat to their bedroom as night fell upon the homestead. An unclear future laid ahead of them, but even as darkness surrounded them, they took solace in each other's presence. The cares of the world began to fade away as the couple spent their first night together in a long time.

* * *

Days turned to weeks. Weeks into months. The trio of Sith spent their time together as a loving family, constructing the foundations for their continued living. The father would eventually come to venture outside the homestead's perimeter, walking the streets of the rural colony that neighbored it under the shroud of a heavy cloak and hood. His muted Pureblood features and cloaked visage allow him to travel without being properly identified, but the populace supplied their fair share of wayward looks and glances.

Back at the homestead, Liasha and Jresh stood amidst the grassy field in front of their house, the green blades wafting amidst the gentle breeze. The mother and her child stood opposing one another. While not donning her previous suit of battle gear, Liasha was garbed in form-fitting robes intended for martial applications. Her son possessed a similar outfitting.

With a deep breath, Liasha signaled for Jresh to start. The boy ran forward, letting out a harsh battle cry as he did so. Closing the gap between himself and his mother, the child threw his first punch. Deftly, the mother intercepted and deflected it single-handedly, her other hand remaining behind her back. Jresh offered another blow just to have it suffer the same fate. His motions were turned against him as any move he made was promptly misdirected away. The ineffective exchange continued until the boy finally backed off, heavily panting as he rested his hands upon his thighs.

"You still do not understand. Strength is not raw power. It is control," Liasha instructed. "Fueled by passions but never defined by them. You must control yourself. Then you might control your surroundings. Be at peace with your emotions, and you can draw from them at your own accord. Then you can find your strength."

"But we gain strength so that we can fight… and fighting is the opposite of peace… so shouldn't peace be the opposite of strength?" Jresh asked.

Liasha let of a soft chuckle. "You've certainly Sith blood running through your veins." Jresh dipped his head in embarrassment, only to find a hand lifting his chin. As he looked up, the warm visage of his mother gazed upon him, lifting his spirits. "Just because two things are opposites, doesn't mean they cannot cooperate. There will always be conflict in the galaxy. It is a way of life. The trick is ensuring that conflict benefits you. Those with dark hearts know this well, but I believe it can be utilized for good. Conflict is merely the opposition of forces. We are the ones who assign meaning and intent. Conflict forces us to adapt, become stronger. It is also a source of much pain, sorrow, and death. But I don't think it has to be that way. There is a deeper understanding to be gained, but we cannot achieve it whilst we are at battle with ourselves. Inner peace. Outer conflict. That is how we gain strength. Remember that."

The wind surrounding the pair violently picked up. Raising her gaze, Liasha witnessed a starship zoom by over their heads. Black and gray. Utterly imposing. The mother immediately recognized the model. Imperial interceptor. Fury-class.

"Jresh… get inside. NOW!"


	58. 0-07 Secrets (part 3)

**Chapter Seven: Secrets (Part Three)**

The vessel touched down amidst the vibrant flatlands of the homestead. As the entrance ramp descended, three figures emerged from the Fury-class starship. Three dark figures. A pair of masked enforcers headed by an armored warrior. Without a helm, the Pureblood male's scarred visage presented itself for all to see as he scanned the expanse that stretched before him.

From atop a distant hill, a different armored figure gazed upon the landing trio through the lens of a telescopic visor. The Human seemed rather unfazed by the arriving Sith as his red overcoat swayed amidst the passing breeze.

"You've got to be kidding me," the figure muttered, lowering his binoculars and raising his holocommunicator. "Lord Tash, this is Vai."

After a pause, the blue image of an elderly Human emanated from the device and began speaking with an utterly calm, utterly smooth voice. "I'm receiving your signal, my apprentice. Have you a status update?"

"Yeah, Zyos's men have arrived as predicted. Well… we didn't predict they'd just casually land in an Imperial ship this close to a Republic colony, but they're here all right."

"Then you may proceed as planned," Tash declared.

"I'm sorry master, but I'm not quite sure why I'm here," Thorel admitted. "The boy hardly meets any of the qualifications for enrollment. It seems more trouble than it's worth, interfering with the business of another Lord over an unessential asset."

"Noted. You can blame Syrosk for this venture. He has his heart, or rather his mind, set on recruiting the Pureblood. The sooner we oblige him, the sooner we can continue to other candidates."

"Okay… okay. I'll observe the proceedings and see if his vision pans out."

The trio whom served Lord Zyos casually made their way toward the front door of the quaint home, in front of which stood the defiantly defensive Liasha. The Pureblood leading the group paused a sizable distance in front of the robed woman, the two imposing figures taking the moment to stare one another down.

"Ravek," Liasha muttered.

Ravek balked. "That's it? I was expecting a 'what are you doing here?' Or at least a, 'how did you find me?' Regardless, may we step inside?"

"You'll not take another step closer," Liasha declared.

"Now, now, Liasha. You're not really in a position to be making threats. Unarmed… Outnumbered…"

"I don't need a weapon to end you."

Ravek offered a conceding nod. "Probably true. But I can keep you occupied long enough for my men to deal with whomever you have hiding inside. Instead, I suggest we have a talk."

"Fine. Talk."

Ravek let out a petulant sigh. "Master Zyos was rather disappointed when you'd perished in a freak warehouse explosion. That disappointment turned to a bit of anger when he realized it was a ruse. Now, if I were you, I would have left a few bodies strewn about before I detonated the cache…"

"What is it you want?"

"Well, what I want, is to sate my, and your former, master. Zyos is a man who doesn't care for loose ends. Given your previous record and talents, he's graciously invited you to return to serve him once more. The alternative…"

"You kill me."

"Well, yes," Ravek admitted. "Of course, there is a third option, if you'll indulge me. My men can wait outside while we have a one on one chat."

Liasha's harsh stare did not lessen, but she knew she couldn't risk discarding any possibilities. Hesitantly, she waved her once fellow apprentice to proceed. Liasha retreated into the home, with Ravek following closely after, the two masked warriors remaining outside.

"Sit!" Liasha directed, her finger defiantly thrust toward the living room seating. Ravek complied, taking his place upon a comfortable armchair.

"When you first disappeared, what was it? More than a decade ago?" Ravek asked, an unusually warm candor emanating from the otherwise intimidating warrior. "Gone for two years, then suddenly you return. Zyos, in all his Sith wisdom, figured you were secretly constructing some sort of power base. I knew there to be a simpler explanation."

"Oh?"

"Someone wanted a family."

"And what makes you say that?"

"Well, for one… you're a woman. The desire is as built into you as your Force-sensitivity," Ravek offered. "The original disappearance was long enough to cultivate and recover from a pregnancy. Or at least partake in one worthwhile romance. After Zyos took you back, whatever credits earned were never spent, yet they never amassed. So you must have been sending them somewhere. Or to someone."

"Maybe I just wanted a nice place for myself. And decided I was much better off without any of you."

"A Sith doesn't choose a Republic colony for solitude. You needed that right mixture of hiding in plain sight and being able to start a new life for yourself."

"Your right. For myself."

"Come now, Liasha. I spent enough time in your company to know you'd never defend purely material possessions from someone like myself the way you did. You're hiding someone here. A husband. A child. Perhaps a parent or sibling."

Liasha maintained her calm. "Do you sense anyone else here?"

"I'll admit, you've got me there. I doubt you'd consort with those powerful enough to mask their presence. However, the opposite is entirely possible. Those so weak I'd not be able to sense them."

Ravek's head panned as he took in his surroundings, his eyes slowly passing from the living room, to the kitchen, to Jresh's bedroom.

"The third option," Liasha spoke up.

"Hrm?"

"You mentioned a third option, what was it?"

"Well, we both know that these kinds of situations can't be resolved without someone dying. If you refuse to return, that'll be you. If you do return, Zyos will want whatever you've been dealing with behind his back destroyed, which means whomever you're living with here will have to die. The third option… we kill Zyos."

"What's the matter, can't do it by yourself?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. As his apprentice, it is my duty to end him at some point. His teachings have somewhat stalled, so I'd like to see that moment expedited. I am not here to destroy everything you've created. You're strong enough to have earned whatever it is you desire out here. Join me, and we can put an end to his inquiries. He'll not be able to trouble you or your family any longer. You'll be free to tend to your assets while I take control of his."

"What about your two men outside?" Liasha asked.

"Like I said. With all options… someone has to die. We can walk out, act like you're returning to Zyos, see if we can't trick one into giving you a lightsaber, and the rest is self-explanatory."

"Alright," Liasha muttered with a heavy hesitance. "I'll help you kill Zyos. Then you never contact me again."

"Wonderful," Ravek stated as he rose from his seat. The two Purebloods cautiously vacated the home, leaving the living room stagnant and silent. Peering in from the cracked doorway of his bedroom, Jresh watched, heart racing, as his mother and the stranger removed themselves from the house. He jumped as he heard the sharp howl of his mother from outside.

"Orbek!" Liasha shouted as she stepped from her home.

Ahead of her, the two masked accompaniers of Ravek had her husband upon his knees between them. Returned from his venture to the nearby colony, the defenseless Pureblood could do nothing to prevent or protest his capture. Liasha's face snarled at the state of her beloved, and she readied herself to charge, only to be interrupted by Zyos's apprentice.

"Wait," Ravek whispered. "We can use this to our advantage. Trust me." The apprentice began walking toward the kneeled captive a wide, toothy smirk upon his face. "Well, well, well. It would seem I was correct about you fostering a family." The warrior now stood in front of the husband, lowering himself to get a good look as his lowered visage. "Poor thing, I can't sense the tiniest bit of Force potential in his blood. This is what you'd turned your back on Zyos for?"

Orbek remained silent, his head bowed, refusing to give any of the Sith the satisfaction of his words. Straightening himself, the apprentice addressed his cohorts.

"Gentlemen. Liasha has agreed to accept Zyos gracious invitation," Ravek declared. "I do not believe, however, that he would permit her return were he to know of this particular individual. Zyos accepts only the strong, and if she has forged a bond with this weakling, his weakness is hers. Therefore in order to have a place under Lord Zyos, she must sever that bond." Ravek thrust his finger at the leftward warrior. "You there. Give Liasha your saber."

The masked warrior stared blankly at Ravek beneath his mask, before finally succumbing to the demand. Taking a step from the captive, the figure unhooked his lightsaber and handed it to the seemingly despondent woman. With a flick of her wrist, she ignited the weapon, baring its crimson blade.

"Go ahead, Liasha. Earn what it is you desire," Ravek directed.

Liasha composed herself. She closed her eyes as she took a deep breath. An exhale later, she gazed upon the determined face of her captive husband. The two locked eyes, sharing a moment of infinite clarity.

The wife took a powerful step forward, mightily swinging the blade of her weapon at the defenseless masked warrior, raking the red plasma across his chest. The warrior fell lifelessly to the ground as his cohort drew his lightsaber. Intending to deal with his captive first, the second masked warrior raised his weapon before bringing it down toward the kneeling Pureblood.

The warrior was baffled to see his strike miss as the captive was tugged from his spot by an invisible force. Looking up, the aggressor saw the retracting motion of Ravek's clenched fist as the husband now lay at his feet. His eyes fixated on the betrayer, the masked warrior could not react to the piercing beam thrust into his chest by Liasha.

The two masked followers of Zyos had been neutralized. As they lay motionless upon the soft ground, Liasha turned to rush toward her husband. Lifting him from the ground, she stabilized him upon his feet, where the two would lose themselves in each other's eyes as tears began to form. The husband and wife embraced, squeezing each other tightly, clenching their arms and their eyes shut as they rest their heads upon each other's shoulders. Their racing hearts began to stabilize. Their minds relaxed. As the soft winds enveloped them, they lost their senses to the superior force of love. Finally it was over.

The couple's eyes rushed open. A piercing hum rang out in their ears. An intolerable pain penetrated their stomachs. Liasha struggled to lift her head. Gazing over her partner's shoulder, she saw the tip of the crimson blade that had been thrust through them. In a flash, Ravek withdrew his saber, and the pair crumbled to the ground.

The two landed on their sides, eyes still locked with one another. However, Orbek's were utterly vacant as the color drained from his face. He was already gone. Liasha writhed on her back, tears streaming down her face, as she saw the traitorous Ravek standing over her.

Carefully, he shut off his saber and knelt down as close as he could to Liasha's face. "I knew you'd grown weak. Your love for this filth made you blind. You'd believe anything, do anything, to protect him. Such sacrifice is unbecoming of a Sith. You don't deserve Zyos's mercy. Instead, you'll die here, while I return as his favored apprentice."

The warrior thought to continue gloating but he was interrupted when a muffle shriek sounded out from his rear. Looking over his shoulder, he had just caught the brief sight of the house's front door slamming shut.

A smirk overtook the Pureblood's visage as he slowly straightened his posture and began making his way toward the home. Liasha stirred upon the ground, trying to grab at the warrior, trying to grab at any of the nearby weapons, but her body was failing her. She was in pain. She had no control of her lower body. She couldn't even scream. All she could do was lay there as a murderous Sith made his way toward her son as the life slowly crept from her body.


	59. 0-08 Secrets (part 4)

**Chapter Eight: Secrets (Part Four)**

Blue skies. White clouds. Golden sun. Liasha rested upon the flat of her back, hands clutching at her abdomen, eyes staring at the peaceful scene above. She had hoped to spend the last moments of her life at peace, but there wasn't a single facet of her mind that would allow it at this point. Her husband lay dead by her side. Her son hid in the house whilst her former ally searched for him. And she was powerless to stop it.

Her clear vision was interrupted by the arrival of a dark figure hovering over her. Her vision cleared as the light settled behind the man, revealing the visage of an unfamiliar face. Slowly, the Human with the red coat knelt down beside her. Liasha didn't know what to do. What to say. She didn't know the stranger, but that wouldn't deter her from reaching out.

"Please… my son," Liasha muttered, the taste of blood overtaking her senses. "You… you have to…"

The Human brought a finger to his lips, accompanied by a soft hushing sound. "My name is Vai Thorel. I represent Lord Tash, a very powerful figure in the Sith Empire. We know about you, your family, and your past with Lord Zyos. Our interest lies in your son, whom we would like to bring to the Korriban Academy."

"But he's not… how could you know…" Liasha struggled to speak.

"We've an ally with a particular talent for finding Force-sensitive children."

"You mean… Jresh is… for sure…"

"Yes. It would seem your son has the gift after all. One we would like to see flourish. I can save your son and deliver him to the Academy safe and sound. There Zyos won't be able to touch him."

The mother remained silent, breaking eye contact as she turned her head away from the Human. "Korriban…"

"A harsh life, as I'm sure you're aware of. But a life of trials is better than an early death. Which would you like for your son?" Thorel asked. Liasha's head swayed against the grass beneath it as she struggled to think. "The balance tips toward death the longer I stay out here."

"Go… save Jresh," Liasha finally whispered. With a nod of his head, Thorel raised himself and took his first step toward the home. "Tell him… tell him to be strong."

With that, the mother fell silent and still, gaze eternally locked staring toward the front door of her once home.

"Of course," Thorel said.

Inside the house, Ravek slowly and methodically made his way through the rooms, lightsaber drawn and ignited, its tip playfully nicking the furniture and walls to the warrior's side.

"Come on out," Ravek taunted. "I know you're in here somewhere. You think you're safe. You think I can't find you. But with each passing second, the fear inside of you is growing. I'll sniff you out, like a tuk'ata stalking its prey. It's only a matter of time."

Ravek came to a stop in front of a door that remained slightly cracked open. Slipping his free hand into the gap, the warrior then mightily pushed the door ajar. He had found his target. A boy, cowering under a desk at the far end of the study. The room was almost bare, giving Ravek a clear path to his next victim. The Pureblood entered the room with a single calculated step. He did not rush things. He savored the moment, drawing upon the child's fear as he continued to cower, aware of the warrior's presence but unable to do anything to escape. Another step, and Ravek held the saber at his side, blade glowing with an angry red hue.

"It's over boy. Accept your fate and join the rest of your pitiful, worthless family," Ravek snarled. "You're a disgrace to the Sith. An affront to your bloodline. This galaxy will be better off… without…y-y-you…"

Jresh raised his head and opened his eyes to see the approaching killer had stalled. His stance appeared locked as his head tilted back. His limbs struggled to move, but one of his hands managed to grasp at his throat. Eventually, some invisible force completely overtook the warrior's body. His legs bent, sending Ravek to his knees. His arms stiffened, locking them in place by his side. His head remained motionless, whilst his eyes began to dart across the room. The lightsaber fell from his hand, shutting off as it struck the floor. The metallic cylinder began to roll ever closer to the child, until it came to a stop directly in front of him.

"Take it," an unfamiliar voice rang out in his head.

The worried look had not yet left the child's face, but Jresh refused to take his eyes off of the weapon. Without any further hesitation, the boy took ahold of the lightsaber, gripping it firmly with his hands.

"Red button. Point the emitter away from your face," the voice continued.

Jresh complied, jumping when the weapon flashed its crimson blade of plasma. Lifting himself from his cowered position beneath the desk, the boy stood in front of the frozen aggressor, the saber in his hand making subtle noises as it struggled to stay still in the child's hands.

"Use it. This man is responsible for the deaths of your mother and father. Do what needs to be done."

Jresh stared at the man fixed to his knees. He didn't know what to do. Everything felt heavy. His hands. His head. His heart. He felt like collapsing, but still he remained standing, as frozen in place as the man responsible for his parents' demise.

"You're afraid. But you're also angry. One emotion will hold you back. One will set you free. Use your anger. Strike him down. Avenge your family. Be strong."

Jresh closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. And with no further hesitation, plunged the lightsaber into the chest of Ravek. Whatever force had been holding the warrior dissipated. His arms and jaw dropped, one last breath escaping his maw as his eyes finally stopped their panicked darting. The body began to fall forward, prompting Jresh to withdraw the weapon and take a step back before the torso collided with the hard floor with a resounding thud. The boy looked upon the motionless warrior, not noticing the intruder standing in the doorway.

"You did it. Good."

It was the same voice as the one in his head, this time finding its way to the child's ears. A startled Jresh lifted his gaze and his weapon, pointing the lightsaber toward the unfamiliar Human.

"Now, now. Settle down. It's all over," Thorel said in a comforting tone. Jresh hesitantly deactivated his weapon, then lowered his gaze as he continued to stare at the corpse of Ravek. "I'm Vai Thorel. A Sith. Like your mother. Like this man. If it weren't for me, there would have been nothing to stop him from ending your life."

"Why would you save me?" Jresh muttered, tears softly flowing down his face.

"Well, because your mother asked me to," Thorel admitted. "She held on to that last bit of life just long enough to make sure you would be okay.

"Why were you even here?"

"I was hoping to talk with your mother about you. It's really a shame I couldn't have arrived earlier."

"Why would you want to talk about me?"

"Because you're special Jresh. Like me. Like your mother. You've the power of the Force flowing through your veins."

"That's not true," Jresh firmly stated, his sight glued to the floor. "I'm just like my father. Powerless."

"There is no single way for the Force to manifest itself. You've the potential resting inside of you. You simply need someone to bring it out. That's why I'm here. I want to bring you to the Korriban Academy. The same place your mother received her training."

"Mom said that place is bad."

"Because it is," Thorel admitted. "It's a bad place filled with bad people doing bad things. But it's that way for a reason. It tests those who enter it. It reacts to those within it. It is a product of its students, and its students a product of it. It doesn't care about your past, only your strength. It requires it. Desires it. Cultivates and motivates it. You mother's last words were to tell you to be strong. Come to Korriban, and you'll be given the tools necessary to become the strongest being in the galaxy."

"Can I… can I see my parents one last time?" Jresh asked.

"Of course," Thorel said.

The boy relinquished his grip on the lightsaber, where it would clang against the floor to rest with its previous owner. The boy and Thorel exited the home, side by side, to the scene of passing. Underneath the soft rays of the planet's sun, Jresh looked upon his mother and father who lay side by side. Kneeling between them, Jresh clenched his eyes amidst the clenching of his fists as more tears ran down his cheeks.

The boy mourned the loss of his family as uncertainty wracked his mind. He did not know how to proceed in the slightest. He thought to give his parents a proper burial, but the thought of laying his hands upon them rattled his psyche. He was the last of his bloodline. The son of a lost warrior and an impurity. Jresh had nothing to bring with him as he began his new life, only the last words of his departed mother.

Eventually, the boy rose from his parents' side, and joined Via Thorel as they made their way toward the nearby colony's starport. Jresh was heading for the Academy.


	60. 0-09 Fighters

**Chapter Nine: Fighters**

Rattatak. A harsh world of stone, unable to create or sustain life. But its peoples endured, thrived, off the sustenance of battle. Of conflict. Of pain. Their pale hands not meant to create, only to crush and destroy. Their structures not crafted, but carved from the rocky terrain. And carved into a mountain bordering a small village was an example of Rattataki splendor. A coliseum. Where the warriors' warriors would meet in combat to the delight of onlookers.

Rows of seats encircled the rounded arena, where the majority of the village congregated in anticipation of the next match. The white-skinned Rattataki numbered over one hundred, each marked with a unique set of tribal tattoos indicative of their accomplishments and legacy.

But a single figure stood out from the others. Sitting alone, a Human watched over the proceedings, donned in a vibrant red coat that clashed with the dullness that surrounded him, but was right at home amongst the blood stains that populated the arena.

The crowd began to stir when one of the entrances to the lower floor opened. The voice of an announcer began to ring out across the arena. "Are you ready to see some action?" The crowd unanimously replied with an affirming cheer. "Then let's get started! This man needs no introduction. You know him. You love him. He's your champion… the Jagged Tempest… the Ardent Razor… Kar'jek Tjensi!"

The stirring crowd turned into one of absolute fervor when a man emerged from the shadowed hallway below. The figure's gait exuded confidence. He raised his arms as well as the audience's spirits as he approached the floor's center. The crowd went wild at the gladiator's presence, especially one little girl who violently cheered from the front row.

The man was immediately recognizable as a warrior, despite being completely unarmored. The Rattataki moved with pride, showing off the numerous black cultural tattoos that marked the entirety of his face and continued down to his body. Long lines of barbed tribal circles and curved patterns wrapped around his naked torso and arms. At his waist, two pristinely silver swords rested, each capable of wreaking destruction without the help of energized edges or vibrating cores.

"And the challenger... a man who doesn't know the meaning of the word unscathed… the last man standing in the last battle royal… 'Stoneskin' Ukajj!"

Opposite the champion, a new figure emerged. A giant of a man, even for a Rattataki. With a powerful, lumbering gait the gladiator approached the center of the arena, where he would stand over two heads taller than his opponent. His bared torso was utterly marred with an equal combination of tattoos and scars from previous battles. But more intimidating than his stature and appearance, was the large, two-handed metallic mallet he rested upon his shoulder.

The announcer's voice started up once more as the two gladiators stared each other down. "As you all know, the champion is set to defend his title against three opponents in three successive matches. Each match will end when someone yields… or dies. In the event of an incapacitation, the person left standing decides the other's fate. Warriors… are you ready?"

Kar'jek unsheathed his swords and adopted his usual battle stance, rotating his body and directing the points of his blades toward his opponent. Ukajj merely lifted the weapon from his shoulder before striking the mallet's head upon the ground with a resounding thud.

"Let the match… begin!"

Kar'jek took the initiative, rushing toward his stalwart opponent, thrusting his swords forward before the giant could even lift his weapon off the ground. Resolute, Ukajj pivoted his weapon upon the mallet's head, deflecting the strike with the long handle. Following through, Kar'jek used the deflection to his advantage, maintaining his momentum. The swordsman kept the giant on the defensive, lashing out before he could get a proper grip on his own weapon.

The crowd cheered as the two did battle, everyone rapt in emotional interest. All except one, however. The Human audience member was content to watch the proceedings with a reserved smile. The two gladiators combatted one another in an escalating series of maneuvers and strikes. As dexterous as the swordsman was, the giant was fully capable of defending himself. As Ukajj finally got a firm grip on his weapon, he went on the offensive.

The crowd hollered as the giant brought his mallet down upon Kar'jek, only for the swordsman to escape at the last moment. The massive weapon would impact against the ground, wracking the stone foundation with thunderous cracks. Watching the battle unfold with a keen eye, the Human started speaking to himself.

"The father is a rather capable fighter. I think he might have actually once been one of Darth Vich's crop," Thorel said.

"Ah yes, Darth Vich," Tash's voice rang out in Thorel's earpiece. "The man who discovered the Rattataki and decided to turn them into his own personal army."

"Followed by a bit of insurrection, death, and enslavement courtesy of the Dark Council. I do hope you aren't planning on achieving similar results."

"I'm not known for making mistakes, apprentice."

"Right."

The fight below was reaching a climax. Slowly but surely, Kar'jek chipped away at Ukajj's defenses. Through a chaotic grace, the swordsman lashed out with a flurry of blows, slicing into the giant's flesh little by little. As blood began to pour from the gladiator's wounds, Ukajj found it harder and harder to lift his massive weapon. Moving to his opponent's flank, Kar'jek struck the back of the giant's legs, forcing him to his knees. Not a moment later, Ukajj found two blades crossed beneath his neck. And not a moment after that, the first match was over, as the giant formally yielded.

The crowd erupted in jubilant cheers as the winning gladiator basked in the revelry, gifting a smile to the young girl who jumped and shouted from the front row.

"That concludes the first match! Victor… Kar'jek Tjensi!" the announcer declared. "But the show's not over folks. We still have two matches to go!"

A trio of nondescript Rattataki emerged from the arena's entrance to escort the first combatant from the floor. Slowly, they managed to drag the massive gladiator and his weapon back into the arena's underworkings. Kar'jek meanwhile, remained undeterred in his presence, standing as if he hadn't just spent the last few minutes in martial combat.

"Our next combatant… a rising star in the gladiator circuit. The Cloaked Dagger. The Masked Terror. Rejj Daiden!"

Emerging from the entrance like a walking shadow, the lithe Rattataki that walked out covered the majority of his flesh with tight, black clothes. His face was concealed beneath a featureless mask, a simple plate held in place by a wrapped cloth, only a single slit cut across it to grant its wearer sight.

The cloaked Rattataki gripped within his hands two black daggers, not letting his guard down even as he entered the arena. Cautiously he made his way toward the floor's center, to stand opposite Kar'jek. The cold glare of the masked gladiator cast itself upon the champion as the two awaited the start of their match. The two did not have to wait long as the announcer declared the battle commenced.

The two dashed at each other, both gladiators wielding a weapon in each hand. As the four blades lashed out at one another with utmost skill, Kar'jek appeared to pull out an early lead. The swordsman capitalized on the superior reach of his weapons, keeping a safe distance between himself and his opponent as they exchanged blows. The crowd's cheers hushed as they focused all of their attention on analyzing the two combatants.

The exchange of blades continued with no sign of either gladiator making a remarkable impact on the other. Eventually, the masked warrior stopped playing it safe. Charging forward, the dagger wielding gladiator lashed out at his opponent, slicing Kar'jek across the chest. But for his one wound, the swordsman reciprocated three upon his foe. A muffled howl rang out from beneath the gladiator's mask as he stumbled past Kar'jek, three diagonal slashes cut into his chest.

As Kar'jek turned, his looked upon his opponent with a snide grin, unfazed by the thin gash across his chest. The swordsman readied his weapons, intent on pressing his assault. Rejj focused on defense, dodging and parrying the swordsman's attacks, but never returning one of his own. The crowd returned to their boisterous cheering as their champion lashed out at the masked challenger.

Rejj dodged yet another strike, leaping backward to put a sizable distance between himself and his opponent. Just as Kar'jek was about to renew his offense, his left leg stumbled as he took a step forward. As the swordsman looked down, his vision began to blur. Shaking his head, the champion tried to focus as the crowd looked on with a hushed wonder.

"Come on, Dad! You can do it!" the young girl shouted from the sidelines. The swordsman could have sworn he heard something, but all that registered in his ears was a steady ringing.

As Kar'jek steadied his stance, he found himself under attack. A flurry of blurred daggers lashed out at him, to which he was unable to properly defend himself. Another gash opened across the swordsman's chest. Then another. One by one, Kar'jek's senses were failing him. His mind wanted to speak, but his mouth wouldn't allow him. Everything grew heavy. Everything began to fade. Looking down, Kar'jek saw the dagger that had been plunged into his chest. His swords dropped. His body followed. The roar of the crowd turned to murmurs. Then silence.

"We have a new champion!" the announcer broke the silence. "Rejj Daiden!"

"NO!" the girl in the front row screamed. "It can't be! He cheated!"

As the girl stood on the precipice of sobbing, she lost it at the sight of the arena attendants stepping out to retrieve her father's corpse. Jumping over the barrier separating the ground floor and the rows of seating, the girl rushed toward the fallen champion. Sliding to her knees, she gazed upon her father's body, dagger still sticking out of his chest. She reached out toward the weapon, when a sharp voice pounded at her senses.

"Don't touch that," the voice directed. "There's likely still venom on the dagger, as well as the wounds."

The girl immediately rose to her feet, turning upon her heels as she looked for the source of the voice. With her back turned, the attendant began to drag her father by his feet back to the underworkings of the arena. The daughter shouted a protest that fell on deaf ears. She turned her attention to the masked killer who cast his cold gaze upon her. She took a step toward him, only to find herself being dragged from the arena by an attendant. She flailed her limbs and tried to break free, but to no avail.

"With a new champion, the third match will be postponed until later in the day. Come back to see if the Masked Terror is capable of defending his new title!" the announcer declared. As the crowd lifted itself from its seating and vacated the arena, the Human watched as the cloaked victor did the same, but not before the two locked their gazes for the briefest of moments. The Human kept his subtle grin as he removed himself from the arena seating.

* * *

In one of the back rooms of the arena's underworkings, Kar'jek Tjensi's body lay upon a rocky slab. Beside him, his daughter rest on her knees, head buried in her hands as she lamented the loss of her father.

"It's not fair," the girl sobbed. Lifting her head, she slammed one of her fists against the slab. "You didn't deserve this."

Her gaze transitioned to her father's swords that leaned against the slab beside her. She reached to one, taking hold of the hilt. Even as she gripped the weapon with both of her hands, she struggled to lift the dense blade. But ever determined, she drug herself and the sword toward the room's exit.

"One should really choose the right weapon if they intend to kill," a voice rang out, the same one that had reached out to her before. This time emanating from the doorway to the rest of the arena underworkings. Though surprised, the girl kept her cool, staring at the stranger, resolute in her stance. "I'm not going to stop you, but you need to think. What kind of man killed your father? Quick. Agile. Cunning. You'll not get very far with a weapon that size. Here…" Reaching for his belt, the Human unhooked a metallic cylinder and tossed it toward the child. The girl dropped the sword just in time to catch the object. "Now careful with that. Point that end this way, and press that button…"

The girl complied, jumping when the crimson blade of energy sprung out from the handle.

"Now that, that is a proper weapon. The weapon of a warrior. That blade can cut through just about any material imaginable. Now… would you like to borrow it?"

The girl nodded.

"Alright then. Where does the champion go after a match?"

The Human and the girl walked out of the carved mountain together, lightsaber returned to its owner, the deed done. The arena was lacking a champion.

"There's a strength in you unlike anyone else in this village," Thorel stated as the pair walked. "We can ensure that strength is tested against others like yourself. Persevere, and you'll become a warrior capable of anything." The Human looked to his follower, whose gaze remained determinedly affixed ahead of her. "I think you'll like Korriban. You'll feel right at home."

The two continued their walk toward Thorel's parked shuttle a short distance away in silence. Kar'ai was heading for the Academy.


	61. 0-10 Colors

**Chapter Ten: Colors**

Black.

The darkness offers safety. In the shadows, men fear to trek and sights fail to track.

The hunters hunt and the seekers seek. The children of Ryloth are removed from the pack.

The exotic prize, beings of purple, pink, and blue. Passed by hands from here to there, and there and back.

The Twi'lek buried by burdens. Women under the lustful gaze, men under the whip's crack.

* * *

Blue.

The child finds solace in the shadows. They offer safety for the boy with no family, no home to return to.

The darkness knows no masters. The child moves within it, the clans and their slavers holding nary a clue.

The boy is alone. No friends nor enemies. Forever unnoticed, nothing is owed, nothing is due.

The days are long. The nights longer. The child runs and hides, plotting his next moments hidden from view.

* * *

Red.

The coated stranger arrives on Ryloth, searching amongst shadows with neither fear nor dread.

The two meet amidst the darkness, the boy standing his ground when he thought to have fled.

The Sith speaks of the Twi'lek's gift, his potential, and all that needed to be said.

The tears to be shed. The fluids to be bled. The ever-present threat to become one with the dead.

The most important prospect, however, to rattle the boy's head, was the future gift of his very own bed.

* * *

With the aspect of knowledge and power and the promise to be free, Ryloh was heading for the Academy.


	62. 0-11 Expectations

**Chapter Eleven: Expectations**

Nar Shaddaa. A place of vices and the means to fulfill them. Tucked away, beneath the casinos and marketplaces that captured the attention of the usual tourists, was a particular shop known only to a few particular figures. Nondescript. No vibrant neon signs announcing its presence. No accompaniment of Hutt enforcers guarding its borders. Just a plain door that led to a small waiting room from the shadowed passageways of the seedy ecumenopolis exterior.

Within the quaint waiting room, a single figure sat. Young. Human. Male. Garbed in a vibrant red coat over a simplistic set of battle armor. Vai Thorel. Sitting. Waiting. Legs crossed, arms neatly folded upon his lap with a content smile across his face as his gaze politely panned across the empty room. His scanning ceased when a door deeper within the shop opened up and a woman stepped through. Dressed with an exotic regality, fine white clothes wrapped around and flowed from her body, an enticing amount of pink flesh remaining uncovered. The length of her deep purple hair was restrained in a well-kept braid, taking care not to hide a single portion of her soft, yet mature face whilst also giving her an overarching sense of decorum.

Thorel raised himself from his seat just to bow his head in respect to the Zeltron woman. "Matron. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine," the Matron warmly replied. "I must say, our Sith clientele are usually much older… and much less handsome."

Thorel let a soft chuckle out of his growing smile. "That's kind of you to say, though to be honest I am here on behalf of my master, who is much older… but only slightly less handsome."

"Well, a pleasant face is always welcome here," the Matron stated. "Now, did your master convey our policies to you?"

"I'm afraid I've only the barest of details, but there is something in particular he is looking for. Something quite specific."

"I see. Well, let us see if we can satisfy his desire." The Matron offered a dip of her head as she beckoned for the apprentice to follow her.

Passing the threshold of the door she had first entered in, the two walked amidst the tight halls of the shop's interior. The matron lead Thorel as they traversed the constricting corridor in a single-file line. On either side of the advancing duo, a series of doors led to unmarked rooms set an equal distance apart from one another. Judging by the gap between them, the apprentice surmised that behind each rest only a single, isolated chamber.

"It is important that you and your master know that we are in the business of, not products, but services," the Matron explained as she walked and talked. "The companions have been conditioned to serve particular needs, but they must be returned in satisfactory condition. Stay within the guidelines of your contract and you will be afforded the chance for longer periods of use, greater sovereignty, multiple companions, up to five for trusted patrons. If they are lost or if they are broken, you will be subject to penalties and limitations upon subsequent visits. Are you following so far?"

"Yes, very much so," Thorel stated. "However, my master is interested in a… permanent arrangement."

"You must understand that we do not readily part with a companion under such circumstances," the Matron declared.

"I understand," Thorel replied. "But my master is not without resources. Credits and manpower. I'm sure that we can reach a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"We may. What are some of the particulars your master is interested in. Boy? Girl?"

"Girl," Thorel answered. "Twi'lek. Purple or violet skin tone. Around ten years old."

"You weren't kidding about wanting something specific," the Matron joked. "I'm not sure we have a companion that could satisfy your specifications."

"Really? No one?" Thorel asked, a seeming disappointment in his voice.

The Matron paused, slightly dipping her head. "Well, there is a girl… a new arrival. She's not yet been raised to the standards we come to expect from our companions."

"Then perhaps you'll be more open to making a permanent arrangement," Thorel offered. "Well pay full price, and take her off your hands."

"More than credits, we value the integrity of our business," the Matron explained. "We cannot allow word to propagate that we allowed an unsatisfactory arrangement to be made."

"I understand. However, I think if I could meet her, I could make a proper judgment on behalf of my master."

* * *

Vai Thorel once more found himself sitting alone in a compact room, one even barer than the first. Unadorned floor, ceiling, and walls. Two chairs set upon opposite sides of a single table. The apprentice had expected multiple targets fitting the description Tash had given him, but it would seem there was only one. He hadn't yet decided whether the current situation would prove to be an easier or more difficult recruitment.

After a few minutes of silence, the door opened across from him, revealing the Matron and a young Twi'lek girl standing in front of her. Softly, the woman guided the girl into the room by her shoulders until all three occupied the small area. The girl kept her head low, more out of submissiveness than discomfort.

"Hello, mister," the girl softly muttered.

Thorel offered a comforting smile before raising his gaze toward the Matron. "Might we have a few moments alone, please?" The woman tried to hide her trepidation, but the slight tilt of her head revealed her hesitance. The apprentice raised both of his hands, flashing his empty palms. "Don't worry. Just want a little chat."

The matron offered a subtle nod of her head before vacating the room, shutting the door behind her. Now, only the Human and young Twi'lek remained. The child remained standing in place, unable to budge physically or mentally, adamant in her current position. Reaching his foot beneath the table, Thorel nudged the chair across from him slightly away.

"Please, have a seat," Thorel directed, voice soft and inviting. The girl was hesitant, but eventually followed the directive, hopping into the seat across from the Human. The Twi'lek kept her head low whilst the apprentice continued to study her. The room was consumed by silence. Seconds passed, perhaps even minutes, with neither of the two figures uttering a word. The silence was only broken when the Sith reached below the table and returned with a lightsaber in his hand. Slowly, he placed it in the middle of the surface resting between the man and the girl.

"Do you know what that is?" Thorel asked. Silence, but the Twi'lek did lift her head to briefly gaze upon the metallic hilt. "That's okay. You don't have to answer, you can just listen. How is it, you suppose, that you came to be here? Not this room, mind you, but this place, with these people. What exactly, are you? Alien? Child? Slave? No, not a slave. That's what you've told yourself, no? Slaves wear chains. Slaves are bought and sold to be gawked at by gluttonous crime lords. Slaves are powerless. But here, it's almost as if you're afforded some semblance of power. Of control. The Matron sets arrangements that even the most powerful figures fear to betray. She holds power over those with wants, desires, and needs. But she and she alone holds that power, doesn't she? You don't have to be a slave to be bound. You don't have to wear chains to be shackled. True freedom only comes to those who take it. And the only people who are capable of taking it… are Sith."

Looking upon the item placed between herself and the Human, the girl's eyes widened as the lightsaber began to lift itself from the surface until it was hovering of its own accord. Raising her gaze, the Twi'lek saw the Sith effortlessly eyeing the floating weapon, controlling it with his mind.

"How familiar are you with your lineage?" Thorel asked, still focused on the lightsaber. "Does the name Jerok'arra mean anything to you? That is the name of your great grandfather. That is the name… of a powerful Sith. Many years ago, a young Twi'lek stumbled into Imperial space, long before we had revealed ourselves to the galaxy. He should have been killed, and yet he survived. Because he had something within him. A gift. A special power. He had turned his back on his past to train in the ways of the Sith. And despite being… accused of spying for the Republic, he would eventually rise to a place of prominence. He would understand true freedom. He could not, unfortunately, afford that understanding to his descendants. You may have fallen back into the chains imposed by lesser beings, but you have the potential to raise yourself to where Jerok'arra once stood. To surpass him, even. We, and we alone, know that within you rests the same power he had. But the first step toward uncovering that power, is to come with me, to an Academy where you can be trained in the ways of the Sith. Is that something you would want?"

The Twi'lek continued to stare at the lightsaber. She had never been asked that question. She had never thought to truly contemplate her own wants and desires. Slowly, she extended her hand, attempting to take hold of the hovering item. As she reached to grasp at the metallic cylinder, the apprentice released his control of it, allowing it to drop into her hands. She caressed the weapon, studying its every curve and contour. Admiring its magnificence.

"Someday you'll hold in your hands one of your very own," Thorel declared. "There is, of course, the matter of convincing the matron to release you into our custody. Though she is the one who controls you, she has inadvertently given you the tools to secure your own freedom. She has taught you the value of the facade. The face. That lightsaber, it is but only one means to accomplish a goal. The spoken word, when trusted, is the most powerful weapon of all. Now, are you ready to depart?"

The Twi'lek nodded, and politely handed the apprentice back his lightsaber. The two exited the room, one right after the other, into the presence of the Matron. Thorel was all smiles and seemed extremely satisfied with his conversation with the girl. The Twi'lek adopted a serene demeanor, one of utter dedication and duty. The apprentice offered his own set of terms for the release of the girl into his custody. The girl gave no impression of the knowledge she had gleaned from the Sith over the course of their conversation. The two, working in tandem, were able to secure the Twi'lek permanent release.

Thorel and the girl walked side by side amongst the higher levels of Nar Shaddaa. The Twi'lek gazed upon the lights and sign for one last time as she followed the apprentice back to his shuttle. Arlia was heading for the Academy.


	63. 0-12 Superiors

**Chapter Twelve: Superiors**

Dromund Kaas. The heart of the Sith Empire, with skies just as dark.

Black spires and towering buildings made up Kaas City, the capital and largest settlement to emerge amongst the unforgiving jungles and ravines that populated the dark world. The Great Galactic War was at its peak and only the most influential and most insignificant Sith could afford to remain within the city for an extended period of time. Everyone in between was spread out amongst the galaxy, fighting to ensure a victory for the Empire. Powerful dark lords of the Sith took shelter within the bastion of the Citadel, guiding their forces and calculating their various plots. At the opposite end of the spectrum, one Sith sought shelter within a different bastion.

Whereas outside, the lights and sounds of thunderous lighting permeated the area, the local cantina traded those for luminous fixtures and continuous music. Imperial officers lucky enough to have the smallest allotment of free time hoped to use it finding a brief escape from the hardships afforded to them by their place in society. A lone figure sitting at the bar wished for the same.

Zabrak. Male. Dark skinned. Crown of horns. Garbed in a thick set of black robes indicative of a Sith. The figure sat hunched over, his eye peering deeply into the depths of the drink resting in his hand. Slowly, he raised the glass of his lips, taking a swig before releasing a heavy sigh. Disconnected from the world around him, the Zabrak was content to drink in solitude. Such want would go unheeded, however, when another Sith casually strolled up to the bar and took a seat next to him.

The alien tore his gaze from his glass to take a quick glance at the peculiarly chipper figure that had chosen to sit in the adjacent seat. His face was soft, and his coat was a vibrant red. Nothing about him conveyed a sense of darkness. It was almost off-putting.

"So. Did you hear? Word is the Republic finally managed to kill the Dread Masters," the Human said, his gaze planted straight ahead toward the distant bartender.

"Yeah, that's the word," the Zabrak hesitantly replied.

"The name's Vai Thorel. And you… must be Ikton Odrek."

"You know my name?" Ikton replied, utterly unfazed by the revelation as he returned to his drink.

"Oh, I know more than that," Thorel admitted. "Ikton Odrek. Security chief for Lord Norrok. Now that's curious. Of all the Sith I've come to meet, I don't think I've ever met one with the title of Security Chief. I dunno. Just doesn't seem very Sith."

The Zabrak released a low grumble. "I'm well aware of my place in this world. There's little left to be said by those intent on insulting 'filth' like me."

Thorel adopted a wide smile. "I'm sorry, I forgot. When people talk with a pleasant cantor around here, it's rarely genuine. Contrary to what you might think, I am actually here to help you."

"Help me? And how do you suppose you'll do that?" Ikton asked.

"I know you're Sith. Well, maybe not in the traditional sense," Thorel admitted. "You never graduated from any of the Academies. You were picked up and trained at a Sith Lord's own personal expense, to be used to fulfill his own needs. You've power, but not enough to properly challenge a Sith of proper standing and worth. Instead, you are in charge of guarding the Lord's estate. More a highly specialized security guard, than a proper warrior. I think, however, that we can change that."

"Who's we?"

"Me. And my master."

"And who would that be?"

Thorel reached into the inside of his coat and retrieved a small holocommunicator and placed it on the bar. The small disk lit up, the shimmering blue form of Lord Tash eventually popping up from the device's projector . The elder Human stood with his head held high, his posture utterly adamant.

"My name is Lord Tash," the image spoke. "I take it my apprentice has extended my offer to you?"

"All he said is that you could somehow change my life."

The image of Lord Tash offered a brief, silent glance toward his apprentice before focusing his attention back toward the Zabrak. "That is correct. In the immediate future, I intend to acquire a vast majority of Lord Norrok's assets. His estate. His funds. His employees…"

"Me," Ikton added.

"Correct," Tash replied. "I would like to offer you the choice to join me. Lord Norrok sees you as nothing more than an animal to be kept on a short leash. I see the potential that rests within you."

"You also see the fact that conquering his estate is much easier with his security chief on your side," Ikton suggested.

The electronic figure's lips curled into a smirk. "Quite the astute observation. Yes, it is true. I intend to exploit your position and knowledge for my own benefit, but such is the way of the Sith. I do not however, intend to throw you away after I am successful in my endeavors. I do not share the thoughts of my peers in regards to aliens. I believe in potential, pure and simple."

"So, what, you're offering me a place in your… what? Crew? Inner circle?"

"You would be my apprentice alongside Thorel there, that much I can offer you. But there is much more beyond that."

"Like what?" Ikton asked.

"Like the fact that I know you have a son," Tash plainly stated. "I know you have been training him yourself, in secret."

The Zabrak began to swirl what little drink was left in his glass. "And?"

"I have much sway over who is permitted into the Korriban Academy," Tash explained. "In fact, over the past few months, I have been gathering Force-sensitive children to fill a new series of openings. I can ensure your son has a place amongst them."

"You… you can ensure my son gets into the Academy? Gets the chance to be a proper Sith?" Ikton asked, showing the first visible sign of genuine emotion.

"I can guarantee it," Tash stated. "Of course, the nature of the Academy will forbid you from having any further contact with the boy…"

"That's okay… that's okay. If you can give my son the chance I never had… I'll gladly join you."

"Excellent," Tash said with a nod. "Give Thorel the location of your son, then make your way to the Citadel. I will have an escort waiting for you at the entrance."

The Zabrak offered an affirming nod as the holocommunicator shut off. Thorel returned the device to his pocket and offered a respecting shake of his hand to his fellow apprentice. While Ikton went to see his new Lord, the Human waded toward the outskirts of Kaas City, to an apartment complex that housed the alien's son.

Thorel eventually made it to the designated housing, a small dwelling continually financed by Ikton. The Human knocked on the door and waited for a response. None came. He resorted to inputting the door code provided by the father. Entering the domicile, it appeared empty. By both persons and things. Little furniture occupied the small entry room. No extraneous decorations were present. It was the barest of living arrangements.

The boy had been living here on his own. Not leaving, making due with whatever his father could send his way. Thorel knew he was here, hiding. The apprentice closed his eyes, focused his mind. Before long, he had a fix on the child's location. Thorel called out to him, said he was a friend. But a distrust of strangers had been firmly implanted into the boy's mind via his father.

The apprentice eventually won him over, telling tales of the Academy and the future that awaited him. The young Zabrak emerged from his room, face stoic and chin held high. He walked out, ready to face whatever had come his way. Thorel offered a smile and a respectful nod of his head.

Together, the two exited the housing structure and made their way toward the nearby starport. Isorr was heading for the Academy.


	64. 0-13 Hunters

**Chapter Thirteen: Hunters**

Bowcaster. Highly modified. Detachable barrel extension. Specialized quarrel ammunitions. Secondary and tertiary firing mechanisms. Extended stock. Two-point sling. Variable telescopic mount.

Ryyk Kerarthorr blades. Two hand-forged weapons. A long curved edge the length of an arm, handle mounted at a ninety degree angle at the base giving it the image of an elongated sickle.

Goggles. Active data streaming. Toggled image intensification and infrared sights. Scope synchronization.

Battle harness. Crossing bandoliers stocked with abundant ammunition and a plethora of situational devices. Across the back, two sheaths and a holster for the bowcaster. No armor. Didn't need armor.

* * *

Trandosha. Birthplace of some of the finest and fiercest independent hunters, warriors, and mercenaries the galaxy. The planet's details matched its denizens in diversity and intent. The unforgiving deserts lashed out at any foolish enough to cross them with sandstorms and heat. Treacherous peaks towered over lesser formations, adamant in their stature. But not all was dominance and savagery.

A golden savannah rested between the barren lands and the small village of Ssarik. A place where trackers tested their skill. Where sons followed in their fathers' footsteps. Where a respect existed between hunters and their prey. The area was not fraught with intensely dangerous wildlife, but there none-the-less existed a chain of supremacy amongst the indigenous and imported fauna. A chain that any self-respecting Trandoshan sought to be on top of.

A small hunting party slinked through the high grass. Four adults. Four children. Each member of the reptilian group held a hunting rifle close to their chest as they stalked their prey. Their scales ranging from yellow to a sandy brown, they blended in perfectly with their surroundings.

Moving forward, the party leader followed a specific path through the grass until he reached a clearing. Halting his progress, he raised a claw signaling the group to do the same. Ahead rest a small pack of katarn. Small. Lean. The four legged reptomammals nested around a large tree that stood alone amidst the vast plains. A number rested at the tree's base, whilst one clung to the side mid-climb, almost acting as a sentry.

The hunting party's leader beckoned one of the children to move up next to him. The scales of the small Trandoshan that snuck forward matched those of the adult, signifying lineage. The father instructed the son to raise his weapon, before silently ordering the rest of the group to spread out laterally. The child nodded and steadied his weapon against his shoulder, taking careful aim at the katarn hanging from the tree's side. However, before he could proceed, a loud bang rang out in the distance, prompting the group of animals to hurriedly scurry up the tree.

The hunters looked around for the source of the disturbance, only to see a rising pillar of smoke emanate from where their village should be. The pack leader snarled a command and the group began sprinting back toward their home. Their uncovered feet dug at the grass and dirt beneath their heels, kicking up dust as they rushed toward their burning village. They ran and ran, each minute the silhouette of their home growing clearer and more focused. But with clarity came dismay.

Every building was ablaze. The sounds of combat echoed toward the returning hunting party, but none could register anything above a muffled chaos. Explosions rang out. Structures toppled. The group was still so far away, and there was nothing they could do to prevent the utter destruction of their homes.

Suddenly, amidst the haze of fire and smoke, a mysterious object began to rise above the village. The hunters watched as the shadowed object began to float, basking in the rising ashes of their homes. The group took pause, ceasing their meaningless attempt to reach their destination. They instead continued to gaze upon the object as it emerged from the haze and began making its way towards them.

The black freighter's engines howled as the ship flew toward the hunters. The blocky starship was utterly intimidating, as were the dual cannons mounted upon its front. As the ship zoomed ever closer, the Trandoshans dove to the ground, covering their heads as they expected a hail of laser fire. Instead, the freighter passed directly over them, shaken the very ground that sat beneath them. Looking up, the hunters saw the starship's cargo bay door was open.

Emerging from the black freighter's hind end was a lone figure stationed upon a jettisoned platform. The small repulsorcraft fell from the sky, before coming to a soft halt as it hovering gently above the flowing grasslands. The platform was little more than a flat surface bolstered by engines with a control panel sticking up from it. Manning that control panel, however, was someone far from simple.

'Direclaw'. The silver-haired Wookiee stood tall upon his platform, eyes hidden behind goggles, the lambent flames of destruction reflecting off the black lenses. The lone figure gazed upon the rising hunters below with an eternally stoic visage. As the Trandoshans raised their weapons, the Wookiee retrieved the one upon his back. A flurry of blaster bolts rang out toward the platform, impacting against the vehicle to little effect.

Amidst the chaos, Direclaw was the epitome of calm. In one smooth motion, he shouldered his bowcaster and launched a projectile toward one of the adults. The energy charged quarrel planted itself in the center of the yellow-scaled Trandoshan's chest, killing him immediately. The leader of the hunting party snarled a command and directed the children to flee. The young ones complied, running back into the tall grass one by one.

Direclaw primed another quarrel and soon, another adult of the hunting party was put down. As the Wookiee scanned for his third target, the head Trandoshan rushed toward the platform and leapt at its heels. The vehicle dipped and swayed as the reptile clutched at the aggressor's feet. The second Trandoshan remaining fired a careful bolt toward the distracted Wookiee, landing a messy shot against the target's shoulder. Direclaw stumbled backward, before leaping from his platform.

The Wookiee landed on the grounds below with nary a bend in his knees, with the lead Trandoshan following soon after. As the reptile straightened his posture, he found the Wookiee already aiming his bowcaster at him. Ducking to the ground, the hunter managed to escape the launched quarrel, but his fellow behind him wasn't so lucky.

Only two men remained. Two masters of the hunt. The Trandoshan rushed up to his knees, firing his rifle at the Wookiee. The silver-haired hunter was remarkably swift, darting to the side as the red bolts of energy flew past his head. The scaled hunter kept the target in his sights, but was unable to land a proper hit. He was used to hunting game. This was no game.

Direclaw closed in on the remaining Trandoshan. The gap between them closed to nothing in an instant. Instead of raising his bowcaster, the Wookiee merely released the weapon from his grasp, letting it fall to the soft grass. Reaching behind his back, Direclaw's hands returned baring two hand-forged blades. The last thing the Trandoshan saw was the Wookiee's face staring directly at his as the two blades crossed directly below his chin. A moment later, the Wookiee uncrossed them, sending the hunter's head to the ground, the rest of his body following shortly after.

The Wookiee straightened his posture and returned his bloodied blades to their sheaths. Slowly, he dusted himself off and picked up his bowcaster. Touching a small device strapped to his left bandolier, the aerial platform lowered itself, allowing its rider to hop back on. With a tap of his claws against the control panel, the vehicle lifted itself and the Wookiee scanned the surrounding fields.

Lines of disturbed grass signaled the paths of the fleeing Trandoshan children. Ordering his platform forward, Direclaw ejected his bowcaster's magazine and replaced it with another. It wasn't long before he had the first child within his sights. Shouldering his weapon, he took careful aim and fired an unenergized quarrel. The metallic bolt planted itself in the child's back, sticking out while its tip delivered a dose of nonlethal sedative deliberately measured for this particular prey.

Direclaw turned toward the next child as the first victim continued to run, eventually succumbing to a sluggish stupor and falling to the ground. One by one the young Trandoshans fell. When all four were dealt with, the Wookiee set his vehicle down.

The eyes of the hunt master's son grew heavier and heavier as he lost control of his entire body. Paralyzed, but he could still feel the grass scratching at his cheek. Suddenly, an imposing figure stood over him, blotting out the sun as he laid prone in the Wookiee's shadow. In his last moments of consciousness, the son witnessed the figure clamp an electrified collar around his neck and drag him toward where his fellows lay.

Direclaw pressed a button on his parked vehicle, signaling the automated pilot installed in his freighter to return. As the black starship descended, the Wookiee returned the platform to its bay, and placed the unconscious children in a series of cages.

* * *

Pa'nek Station. An orbital space station situated on the fringes of Hutt space. A marketplace for all things illicit with none of the glitz of Nar Shaddaa. In one of the many hangar bays, worker droids unloaded the cargo of Direclaw's freighter. The caged Trandoshans made their way to the market alongside other various crates and containers.

The sentient creatures were put on display alongside various rare fauna and beasts of burden. Very few in the galaxy had need or want for Trandoshan slaves, but the Wookiee took great pride in his work. As Direclaw waited for a potential sale, he was greeted with the sight of an approaching buyer. Young. Male. Human. Red coat. He was interested in one of the children, one in particular. A deal was struck, the Wookiee gave warning of what was to be expected, but he Human offered only a content smile and the nod of his head as he parted with his credits.

A group of attendants began to transport the caged Trandoshan toward the Human's ship, when the child began thrashing about. His motions ceased when the electric collar around his neck activated, forcing the reptile into a defeated slump. The Wookiee handed over he collar's control and offered a departing nod.

In the Human's hangar, the transporters were about to load the Trandoshan's container into the Fury-class interceptor when the owner dismissed them. Alone with his purchased item, the man unlocked the cage and asked the child to come out. The lizard hesitantly complied. The two figures faced one another, one refusing to look the other in the eye. Bending his knees, the Human reached around the child's neck and unlatched the restraining collar.

The Trandoshan lifted his gaze, looking the Human in the eye for only a second before darting for the exit. The Human turned and watched the child make a run for it, letting out a brief sigh. Just as the alien was about to reach the entrance to the station's interior, the Human reached out with his hand and offered the quick flick of his wrist. Suddenly, the Trandoshan was flung backward, tugged by an invisible force and dragged back to his master's feet.

The alien offered a confused look as he gazed up at the smiling Human, who now offered a helping hand. There were words to be shared. Explanations to be had. The promise of hidden power. Of redeemed honor. Of countless battles and tests of might.

The Trandoshan no longer wished to run, but to walk, alongside the Human and onto his ship. Nesk was heading for the Academy.


	65. 0-14 Warriors

**Chapter Fourteen: Warriors**

"I'm worried about the boy. He hasn't spoken a word since his father's death. This is an integral point in his training, and without his father to train him, the tribe doesn't know what should be done with him."

"He can train with the group, but it is the duty of the father to tend to the son. He'll have until the end of the next cycle to find a warrior willing to adopt him. If he can't, he'll be banished.

"I understand. I'll inform the others."

* * *

Tatooine. Two suns. Sand. Lots of sand. And rocks. An all-around intolerable place to be.

At the base of a mountain ridge stood the mouth of a cave. And in front of that mouth stood a man. A man who looked onward with utter disappointment as his red coat wafted in the wind and the blowing sand nicked at his boots. The gentle whistle of the warm breeze against the caverns was momentarily drowned out by the Human's deep sigh.

"I hate this place," Thorel muttered to himself. Before delving into the dark corridors, the Sith retrieved the holocommunicator from his coat and powered it up, the image of his master appearing a moment later.

"My apprentice. Have you concluded your business on Tatooine?" Tash asked.

"I wish," Thorel said, uncharacteristically grumpy. "I don't understand how this hellish dust ball manages to remain relevant in the galaxy. It's horrible here. And now you're sending me after recruits in caves? I mean, the Rattataki and Trandoshans can be primitive, but they're light years ahead of these Sand People."

"Luckily for you, Syrosk says the child is a different type of alien. A Nikto," Tash explained.

"What's he doing hiding in a cave?"

"I don't know. We only have the information afforded to us by Syrosk's visions. As remarkable as they are, they are fairly limited in scope. And if it goes unheeded, it will linger in his mind. We're nearing the necessary number of students, so we shan't have to deal with many more of these excursions. Secure the child and return to me."

Thorel's shoulders drooped. "Couldn't you have sent Odrek on this one?"

"He is currently occupied with separate affairs. In my latest series of appeasements, I offered his services to Darth Malgus, who's apparently heading some operation involving Alderaan," Tash explained.

"Really. He gets Alderaan? I get stuck with Tatooine?"

"Your skills are better suited to your current task."

"I'm afraid my charm and wit don't exactly translate to appeasing tribals," Thorel admitted.

"Might I remind you that you remain a Sith, apprentice. Return with the child. That is all."

The holocommunicator shut off and Thorel was stuck eyeing the mouth of the cave. Peering in deeper, the apprentice saw the faint flicker and glow of golden light further in. With a hefty hesitation, the Sith eventually made his way into the cavern. Slowly he trekked deeper and deeper until he came across manmade fixtures lining the walls. Primitive, but the sign of a sentient's dwelling. Electronic torches. Dim. Connected by thin wires and cables that stretched deeper into the cave.

The singular tunnel continued without branches, leading the Sith down the only possible path. Carefully he walked, trying to muffle the sounds of his boots against the hard rock below. Despite his usual aloofness, he hadn't dropped his guard, scanning the winding path that laid before him. Studying his surroundings, the Sith didn't know what to expect. The area only matched half of what he had learned of the planet's indigenous Sand People. No paintings. No tapestries. No burning flames. Only the a faint clattering of metal resonating deeper within the cave.

Eventually the tunnel widened and opened entirely to a large cavern. The single domed chamber was immense, capable of housing a number of small families. Within its boundaries, a number of tents had been constructed. Beside them rest the tools of battle. Racks of weapons and armor. Training dummies. Combat arenas. Standing at the entrance to the populated chamber, the Sith realized his expectations were off.

"Morgukai," Thorel muttered to himself.

The sound of clattering metal ceased. Eight warriors scattered about the chamber stopped their various training exercises and turned their heads toward the source of the disturbance. The Sith suddenly felt the burdening stares of eight Kajain'sa'Nikto, each armed and armored, beating down upon him. Trained Jedi killers, each and every one of them. Staffs and armor plating forged from cortosis. None of them looked too pleased by the Sith's presence.

With a deep breath, Thorel spoke up. "I am looking for a child…"

"I don't care what it is you seek," one of the Morgukai snarled. He stood separate from the others. More lines than usual upon his face. A person of stature, socially and physically. The group's chieftain. "I see your garb. Your weapon. Your presence. You are either Jedi… or Sith. We do not abide the company of either. Servants of the Force aren't to be trusted, and when one stumbles upon our camp… their lives are forfeit."

Simultaneously, the chieftain and his fellow warriors raised their weapons, hands firmly gripped upon the black staff as their tips began to arc with electricity. The Morgukai began to close in on the Sith, who remained adamant in his motionless stance.

"And what of the Force-sensitive currently residing within your camp?"

The warriors immediately took pause.

"What are you talking about?" the chieftain asked, sufficiently perturbed.

"What reason does a Sith have to come to this deserted wasteland, walk amongst the endless seas of sand, enter an utterly unremarkable cave, and 'stumble' across a small detachment of Jedi-slash-Sith killing death cultists? There is a child here, one of your own, that possesses the gift of Force-sensitivity. I've come to extend him an offer. A place to develop his talents. To train his body, mind, and spirit in ways far beyond the understanding of your group. To become a proper warrior."

Suddenly, emerging from one of the tents was the head of a young boy intrigued by the words he had gathered eavesdropping. The child gazed upon the Sith with a cold visage, one afforded to him by his species' biology coupled with a particularly harsh upbringing. The Sith offered the boy a nod as he emerged fully from his tent.

The Morgukai chieftain darted his gaze between the intruder and the child, never dropping his disgusted demeanor. "We'll deal with the boy after you are disposed of."

Whatever pleasantness had remained upon the Sith visage was all but wiped clean. In its place a stern glare levied at the Morgukai chief.

"Your training may have shielded your minds from me, but the boy's thoughts are clear as day. All you lot care about is death. Your codes, your creeds, your skills, your interactions, your relationships… it all leads back to death. It's the only language you're fluent in. Very well." The Sith reached to his belt and retrieved his lightsaber, igniting its crimson blade with a flick of his wrist. "Let's converse."

The closest Morgukai lunged to strike, bringing the head of his staff down upon the Sith in a mighty arc. With supreme speed, the Human sidestepped the blow unfazed. The warrior recovered quick enough to avoid colliding his weapon with the ground, but not quickly enough to avoid the tip of the Sith's crimson blade puncturing his throat with one swift thrust. Retracting his blade just as quick, the first victim had not even reached the ground as the group closed in on Thorel.

A second approached the Sith, keeping his guard tight and his weapon close. Thorel's lightsaber brushed against the length of the warrior's staff, eliciting a shower of sparks as it refused to cut through. His grip tightened, the defending Nikto could not extend his reach as the Sith continued toward his flank. In one smooth, fluid motion, the apprentice plunged his saber into the warrior's side, an area unprotected by armor plating.

A third lashed out at the Sith, the two fighters' weapons making brief, but frequent contact as they traded a series of blows. The fourth Nikto moved to the Human's rear, attempting to flank him. Opponents on opposite sides, the Sith was on the defensive, dividing his attention between the two foes. Darting back and forth between the two, Thorel eventually parried a blow, ducking and sending the tip of the third's electrified staff into the fourth's shoulder. The Sith raised his blade with a swift sweep, lopping off the third's arms at the elbows before continuing to relieve the stunned fourth of his head.

The fifth charged the Sith. Thorel replied with the powerful swiping of his free hand. Suddenly, the charging Nikto lost his footing, as if a rug were instantly pulled out from under him. For a second, the warrior was floating, but in the next he was flying as the apprentice thrust both hand forward, furiously knocking the Nikto back and into the nearest rock face with a Force push. A loud thud resonated throughout the chamber as the warrior's head collided with the solid surface.

The sixth maintained his distance, but to little avail as the Sith released his grip on the lightsaber with a calculated toss. The saber swirled upon an arcing flight path toward the Nikto's head. The seventh thought to capitalized on the Sith's weaponless state. Just as the flung saber passed through the sixth's neck, the seventh lunged his staff's tip at the Human. The Sith sidestepped the thrust, batting the weapon away with one hand as the other collided with the warrior's chest plate with an open palm. As soon as it made contact, a powerful Force push traveled through the armor, sternum, and lungs of the seventh Nikto. Reeling from the loss of his breath and his insides being rearranged, the Sith's saber had finished its arc and was once more held within his hand. Thrusting the crimson blades tip forward, it managed to pierce the cracked chest plate and everything resting behind it.

The last of the Morgukai remained. The eighth. The chieftain. The two squared off, eyes intently locked. The two collided without another moment of hesitation, trading blows with a high degree of expertise. The Sith moved with a fluid grace, anticipating and deflecting any blows that came his way, making artful thrusts and jabs when the proper moment arrived. The apprentice nicked at the Nikto's chest, blade bouncing off the cortosis-weave armor with little lasting effect. The chieftain put up a good fight, but his defenses were failing. With each subsequent lunge of his staff, the Sith would land a glancing blow on his unguarded limbs, leaving numerous burns and lashes upon the chieftain's arms and legs.

The Nikto's movements were slowing, his limbs suffering from damage and fatigue. One errant strike later, and the Sith was able to plunge the tip of his blade deep into the chieftain's thigh, bringing the warrior to his knees. As he struggled to steady himself, resting the majority of his weight upon the staff, the Nikto gritted his teeth as he stared at the stilled Sith that now stood across from him.

"He'll never… be a proper warrior…" the chieftain muttered.

"That not for you to decide," Thorel replied. The Sith followed up with a quick slash of his blade, severing the head of the last Morgukai warrior. As all eight Nikto laid motionless upon the ground, Thorel calmly sheathed his saber and returned it to his belt. Looking up from the ground, he saw the child standing unfazed outside the boundaries of his tent. Slowly, the boy eyed each and every one of the fallen warriors before laying his eyes upon their killer. "Listen, there is much to…"

The child took a step from his previous frozen stature. Then another. And another. Until he finally stood in front of the Human himself. The Sith stood in silence, as the young Nikto simply offered a single dutiful nod and began to walk toward the exit of the cavern.

Thorel offered the slight tilt of his head before following the child. Together, they vacated the caves and made their way to the apprentice's docked ship. Vurt was heading for the Academy.


	66. 0-15 Seers (part 1)

**Chapter Fifteen: Seers (Part One)**

_56 BTC_

The galaxy at large knew nothing of the Sith Empire that lurked in the shadows. It had not yet known the calamity and chaos of the Great Galactic War. The Republic persisted and acted in its usual manners, unaware of those plotting, planning its eventual downfall. And Dromund Kaas was the same as it ever was. Dark and gloomy skies at each hour of the day. Beneath them, the various machinations of Sith Lords and their lessers.

Within the hallowed halls of the Citadel, prestigious Lords made their dealings shielded from the prying eyes of even their peers. Within one office, two individuals were engaged in polite conversation. One, an elderly Sith Pureblood, sat behind a tremendous desk, basking in the regality that made up the room's design. The other, a plain, unassuming Human.

Male. Garbed in the simplest of black robes, the only piece of note was the jeweled amulet that hung from his neck bearing a dark yellow stone enwrapped with silver. His short, dark hair was kept tidy and combed in a rather formal fashion. He gazed at the Sith who sat across from him, watching with an unwavering stoicism as the Pureblood's eyes poured over a datapad.

"Impressive. Most impressive," the Pureblood said. "You and your men have secured all these names?"

"No men, just me," the Human replied.

"I see. And they've been verified?"

"I've visited with each of them. Though not all have shown proper manifestations, I am sure they all have the potential," the Human explained. "I've also provided recommendations for institutions based on the children's inherent talents and status. Ziost, Odacer-Faustin, the local Academy for the most gifted."

"I must say, your work continues to surprise us," the Pureblood admitted. "You do the Empire a great favor in finding the potential Sith that manage to evade our notice. Honestly, if all parents would just put their children through the suggested tests it would save us a lot of trouble."

"If they had the slightest reason to believe their child might be Force-sensitive, most Imperials would readily submit them to the trials. However, power unexpected is power unfulfilled. I specialize in searching for those with dormant Force-sensitivity. Those who belong to families unaware of their lineages."

The Pureblood scoffed. "Wouldn't be a problem if everyone were tested, regardless of expectations. Even if they can't use the Force, it would provide a welcome challenge in their lives. It's almost as if the populace has forgotten what we've spent all these years preparing for." Letting out a sigh, the Pureblood set the datapad upon the desk's surface. "I'll send for the recruiters momentarily. Until next time, Lord Omnus."

The Human Lord lifted himself from his seat and offered a low bow of his head to the Pureblood before exiting the office. With a gentle pace, Omnus made his way through the Citadel halls, arms neatly folded behind his back as he walked with seemingly no destination in mind. His stoic gaze drifted from side to side, watching the various masters go about their business, apprentices firmly in tow. He, meanwhile, continued onwards alone.

Outside, the skies above offered little indication of the time, but the capital was bustling in its midday activities. The people moved with a purpose. Omnus on the other hand, was content to stroll. With a distinct lack of haste, the Lord made his way to the city's markets by way of speeder. As he disembarked and continued on foot, the Human began to feel a strange tingling in the air. Surreptitiously scanning the nearby streets, nothing was amiss with the local pedestrians. And even the nearby Sith hadn't noticed anything.

Omnus paused his advance, closed his eyes, and focused his mind. Not a moment later did his eyes snap open as he began to search the surrounding scene. His gaze was frantic, and yet it was guided by some intrinsic knowledge. The Lord's eyes would eventually come to rest upon a dark alley nestled between two buildings. An enduring, concealing darkness lay beyond. As he regained his usual stoic visage, the Human calmly ventured forth into the alleyway.

With each step, the sights and sounds of the city disappeared from his senses. There was nothing back here. And yet there was something. Some thing. Life. Yet everything was still. The alley continued, branching and winding with narrower and narrower paths. Eventually, the Human had reached a point where there was no evidence of a city behind him.

Omnus stood, basking in the silent darkness. What appeared to be one of the city's outer walls stretched in front of him. Stacks of unassuming crates rested on either side of the Lord. Shutting his eyes, the Human took a deep breath as he felt his surroundings within his mind. Slowly, he came to, took a few steps, and stopped in front of a single sizable crate. He looked it over with a slight tilt of his head, before delivering a swift kick of his boot to the container's side. As he retracted his foot, the crate began to shake even further.

There was movement inside, until finally one of the sides gave way and a child came tumbling out. Cloaked in rags and shadows, the young one scuttled along the ground trying to put some distance between himself and the invader. Just as he lifted himself up from the ground, the child found himself being lifted much higher than expected. His forward movement ceased as his entire body began to rise and hover a short distance from the ground. Struggling and writhing, the boy spun to see the Human reaching out with his arms, clutching the air with a determined gaze.

As he held the child up with the Force, Omnus managed to get a better look at the strange creature. Alien, the boy had two horns emanating from his cranium, curving forward so that their tips strayed beyond the covering of his ragged hood. Even as his position was locked, the child refused to cease his motions, swinging his arms and kicking his legs as the Sith Lord looked upon him with the simple arch of his brow.

"Boy, you're going to have to try harder than that," Omnus muttered. The alien took pause and limply floated as the Human rotated him until they faced one another. The two figures locked their gazes, face to face.

The child's eyes sharpened and the Lord's confusion had peaked. His stoicism and concentration faltered as he felt a sharp scratch cut across his mind. Omnus' grip loosened and the alien was once more on the ground. Not a moment later, the boy tried to flee, darting down the alleyway. Recovering, the Lord reaffirmed his telekinetic grip and dragged the alien back to his position. Throughout all the struggles, the child never let out a single sound.

The boy's heels scraped against the ground as he was slid back toward the Human. His wits firmly about him, Lord Omnus studied the creature. There was a peculiarity about him. Uncivilized, but intelligent. He had tried to escape, but made careful note not to draw any excess attention to himself. And most peculiar of all, he had lashed out with his mind.

Closing the remaining gap, the Sith Lord took ahold of the child's shoulders with a firm grasp and stared deeply into his eyes. "Who are you? What are you?" Omnus inquired with a tone falling directly between comforting and demanding.

The child's eyes began to sharpen once more, eliciting a gruff chuckle from the Human.

"I'm afraid that won't work a second time," Omnus declared. The alien relaxed his gaze as he remained trapped by the adult's grip. The Lord tilted his head with a curious intrigue as he felt an unknown force nipping at the back of his head. "Oh… you truly are something else. What is it you hope to find rattling about in my head? Information? Motivation?"

The Sith Lord's lips stopped moving, but his words continued to reach the boy's senses.

"You're not the only one with a talent," Omnus' words bombarded the child's mind. The alien winced as he felt an intruding presence claw its way through his mind. When the presence retracted, the child opened his eyes to see the Human's calm gaze placed upon him. "You've either the most well-guarded mind in the entire Empire, or you know as little about yourself as I do."

The Lord relinquished his grip on the child, who took a calculated step away, his back against a high stack of crates. The Human straightened his posture and looked upon the child as he folded his hands behind his back.

"An amnesiac telepathic alien on Dromund Kaas," Omnus said. "The word 'peculiar' doesn't begin to describe your situation. I assume you've made your home among these back alleys, picking up scraps of food for however long you've been here, avoiding confrontation with your… skills. Sensing minds when they draw near, or perhaps…"

Stealthily, Lord Omnus unfolded one of the hand behind his back. Reaching out with the Force, the Human quietly lifted the small crate on the top of the stack behind the boy. Carefully he positioned it above the child's head, guarding his thoughts from any possible intrusions. Suddenly, just before he released his grip, the alien darted to the side to avoid the soon to be falling object.

"Limited precognitive abilities… very interesting. I'd say these talents could be afforded to your species but I… sense something special inside you. You possess the gift of the Force."

The boy's expression changed little. He obviously understood the word, having read it upon the minds of countless nearby citizens, but held no measure of its meaning or worth. Slowly, Lord Omnus began to kneel upon the ground, hands placed upon his lap and eyes lightly closed.

"No explanation I could give would prove sufficient, so I offer my mind to you with no restrictions," Omnus declared. "Allow me to shed some light on what rests inside you."

The child took a cautious step forward. He knew the Human was in little position to prevent his escape. But he also knew the man possessed the same skills he did, to a far greater degree. They had touched each other's minds. Each knew of the other's presence, and could seek them out at their discretion. The alien stayed, gazing upon the meditative Human. Reaching out with his mind, the child searched for answers, and found many.

Visions began to swarm the alien's mind. Flashing images of deadly and battle-hardened warriors brandishing swords of light against one another, energies surrounding and flowing from them. Those who basked in the radiance shunned and cast out their dark brethren. The exiles drifted across the vastness of space, until they settled upon a barren world of crimson men and their shadowed hearts. Blood mixed. Rites and knowledge converged. Those who persisted would call themselves Sith.

The child watched as countless years of history were condensed into mere moments. The rise and fall of the Sith peoples. Their wants, their creeds. The Republic's attempts to utterly extinguish their order more than a thousand years ago. He saw an Empire hiding in the shadows, its citizens forged in the fires of combat. Their limits tested. Their potential unlocked. Bodies, minds, and spirits all driven toward perfection. Those most worthy ascending to power from nothing, ready to lead their followers to victory.

The alien broke his connection with the Sith, taking a step back as he tried to recover from the overwhelming feeling stirring within him.

"I am Lord Omnus," the Human declared, rising to his feet. "How would you like to be my apprentice?"

The child raised his head, firmly locking his gaze with the Human's and offering a firm nod of his head.


	67. 0-16 Seers (part 2)

**Chapter Sixteen: Seers (Part Two)**

Lord Omnus walked the streets of the Imperial capital with usual stoicism, hands behind his back as the raggedy alien carefully kept pace on his trail. The child's gaze darted from side to side as he observed his surroundings, growing increasingly uncomfortable being out in the open. More and more eyes fell upon him. More and more whispers began to creep into his mind. Meanwhile his master continued his stroll unfazed.

"You feel it, don't you?" Omnus' words rang out in the alien's head. "The attention. The burden. You've never stepped out into the light, have you? At least, not so far as you can remember. You can hear their thoughts. None of them positive. You are an alien. An animal. A scourge. Most Imperials believe you have no place in our superior society. I've no patience for excessive inclusion, but I do believe in talent above all else. Above social status. Above genealogy. Above tradition. As my apprentice, I will impart upon you the training necessary to harness your skills. If I am mistaken about your potential, I'll not hesitate to cast you back into the shadows."

The child's attention focused on his master, ignoring the numerous stares offered by Imperial passersby. Looking upon the back of the Human's head, the whispers slowly began to quiet as he regained control of his mental senses.

"The road that lays before you is long and hazardous. You'll face just as many enemies within the Empire as you would outside its borders. They will try to beat you, keep you down, but the path of hardship leads toward the unlocking of your full potential. It will fuel your passion, which will give you strength. With strength comes power. With power comes victory. With victory comes freedom. But one can only earn as much by harnessing the power of the Force."

* * *

Nestled deep within the Citadel rest a sanctum, tucked away from the offices and dwellings of Sith who felt the need for grandiose displays of their positions. Lord Omnus' home within Dromund Kaas. A quaint accommodation, the area spoke of its owner. Lightly decorated, eschewing the typical lavishness exhibited by some of his peers. Six rooms: Entry hall, living area, dining area, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. A place gifted to someone in good standing. A place earned by merit of its owner's value.

Sitting at the head of the dining table, the alien sat patiently, waiting for his master's return as he eyed the empty placemat in front of him. Soft noises emanated from kitchen, the clangs of metal containers and dishes. The boy was starving, but silently he endured, sitting in his tattered black clothes. Eventually his master would emerge, bearing a single bowl.

Lord Omnus placed the dish in front of his apprentices. The child's eye began to water as the warm vapors of the contents wafted into his overlooking face. The bowl contained a simple allotment of cereal grain. White. Barely flavored. But it was food none the less.

The alien looked up to his master, who supplied a simple affirming nod. Immediately the child dug in, forgoing any utensils and instead shoveling the food into his mouth with his clawed digits. Lifting up the bowl, the boy intended to tilt the remaining contents directly into his mouth, when an unexpected hand took hold of the bowl. Slamming it down upon the table, Lord Omnus had placed his hand on the dish's outer rim. The next moment, the alien found the bowl to be dragged toward the center of the table and out of his reach.

The boy gazed up to his master with a look of disheartened confusion as the Lord began to circle around to the other side of the table. Taking the seat across from his apprentice, the Human locked on to the child with his usual stoic gaze.

"You are hungry, correct?" Omnus calmly asked. The boy supplied a hurried nod. "You seek to sate that hunger?" Another nod. "Then you must learn to take what it is you desire, otherwise someone will take it from you."

The boy's visage contorted to one of anger. One of determination. Eagerly, he began to rise from his seat to reach further across the table. Suddenly, he felt an invisible force forcing him back into his chair.

"No," Omnus stated, only slightly raising his voice. "Anyone can use their body to achieve their desires, even the lowliest of beasts and slaves. A Sith forces what he desires to come to him. Make the bowl come to you."

The child stared vacantly at his master for a moment before focusing his attention on the bowl. His eyes sharpened as he focused his mind on the object. He concentrated, not entirely sure what he was concentrating on.

"It is only a bowl of rice. It has no mind. You need not know its intentions. You cannot trick it into coming to you. Your only option is the application of pure force. Hold out your hand. Feel the object in your mind. Encase it with an invisible tether and pull!"

The apprentice complied, following his master's instructions in measured steps. His right hand extended until his elbow locked in place. His full attention fell upon the distant bowl of food. His eyes saw only the bowl. His mind saw only the bowl. Slowly his clawed fingers clenched toward a fist as he attempted to grip the item with the Force.

"Don't focus on the problem. Focus on the solution. Remember why you want what you are trying to attain."

The bowl began to shake. The child's eyes sharpened and his nostrils flared as he struggled to take control over the simple dish. He could feel something inside. Something trying desperately to escape. Some unknown feeling. Some unknown energy. In a moment of clarity, he let go, releasing the Force from his body, but snatching it back with the deft motion of his hand.

The alien watched as the bowl was flung toward him, almost spilling its contents before he managed to catch it within his hands. His face displaying a genuine surprise, the child lightly set the received bowl upon the placemat in front of him. Looking to his master, he saw the Human bearing an approving smile upon his face. Lord Omnus followed it up with an affirming nod, granting the boy the permission to feast he so desperately wanted.

The Human watched with subtle admiration as the boy dug into what remained of the meal. "It is when we are at our weakest, that we manage to find strength. Remember that."

It wasn't long before the apprentice had finished the bowl, not yet full but decidedly satisfied. Wiping his mouth, he saw his master had not yet broken his continuous gaze.

"Would you care for more?" Omnus asked. The boy replied with a nod. "You will not get far with mere gestures. You will have to speak up. Now, would you care for more?"

With hesitation the child spoke up. "Yes," he squeaked. The boy's voice was juvenile but coarse, as if it had shriveled from disuse.

"Alright. I'll make you some more then," Omnus stated.

He quickly lifted himself from his seat and ventured back into the kitchen with the spent bowl in his hand. Hardly any time passed before he returned with a full bowl and set it in front of his apprentice. Glancing at the simple dish, the alien was once more greeted by the steam that rose from the warm rice. Raising his gaze, he once more waited for his master's approval.

"Your previous life has trained you to be cautious. That will serve you well," Omnus declared. "But you've endured enough for the day. No more tests. Enjoy."

The boy offered a grateful nod as he partook in the gifted meal, tempering his pace this time around.

"Tell me, do you have a name, boy?" Omnus asked.

The child momentarily ceased his feast to offer a hesitant shake of his head. "No."

"A Sith with no name, is no Sith," Omnus declared. "And if you've nothing to call yourself, others will dictate your titles, and that is not a well-suited fate. I'll give you a good Imperial name… Algo Syrosk."

"What does it stand for?" the boy asked.

"I don't know. You'll have to ask one of my parents. I took on a new name the day I became a Sith Lord, so I've no use for that one," Omnus explained. "Is that okay with you?"

"Yes," Syrosk hesitantly admitted as he returned to his meal.

The next few days were spent getting Syrosk into a readied condition to begin his training proper. His tattered rags were tossed out and replaced with a true set of robes. The accumulated dirt and grime on his body had been washed away. A steady diet had replaced scrounging for bits of food. His body was being repaired, so that it could be broken over the course of training. And Syrosk was looking forward to it.

As the first week of their relationship was nearing its end, Lord Omnus and Syrosk walked the streets of Dromund Kaas. Gone was the paranoia in the alien's visage and gait, in its stead a confident Sith who had not yet reached his teens. The two entered the Citadel where Lord Omnus had a meeting scheduled with one of his peers.

Omnus and Syrosk made their ways through the deeper halls of the Imperial bastion to reach their intended destination, the office of one Lord Leshai. Stepping inside, the pair saw the Lord sitting behind a simplistic desk, a young apprentice standing by his side. The sitting master was a Sith Pureblood a few years older than Omnus. The Human at his side appeared to be in his late teens.

Lord Omnus stood opposite the pair and offered a generous bow of his head. "Lord Leshai. Tash."


	68. 0-17 Seers (part 3)

**Chapter Seventeen: Seers (Part Three)**

Lord Omnus took a seat across from his peer, his apprentice standing closely by his side. Lord Leshai offered an emotionless nod to his primary guest before casting a stern glance toward the young alien.

"This is… unexpected," Leshai muttered with a coarse tenor.

"The fact that I've taken an apprentice?" Omnus suggested.

"That fact that you're willing to parade such a creature through the Imperial capital," Leshai corrected. "I'm not even familiar with this species."

"Neither am I," Omnus admitted. "But we've never cared about such things."

"Maybe not, but there are thousands of Imperials who do. Many of them in positions of power. I'd not waste my time with an apprentice shackled with so many limitations," Leshai declared.

"Neither would I. I have ambitious plans for the both of us."

"Which, I assume, prompted this meeting."

"Correct. I've finished my latest recruiting drive for the Academies, so I've time for my own pursuits. But I lack the facilities and resources to properly train an apprentice."

"And you'd like to use mine," Leshai suggested. The other Lord offered a simple nod. "I'd rather not jeopardize my sphere of influence so that you might pursue some petty pet project."

"I assure you, my interests in my apprentice are anything but petty," Omnus declared. Looking to Syrosk, the Lord placed a hand on his shoulder and offered a confident nod. Syrosk gave one of his own as he looked across the table, focusing on the young Human by Leshai's side.

"His apprentice is wondering why his master is wasting time with us," Syrosk explained. "Before that he was trying to figure out what I am, suggesting Twee-lek and Chag-ree-un. Now it seems he's getting defensive…"

"I think that's enough of a demonstration," Omnus said as he patted his apprentice's shoulder. Tash meanwhile subtly squirmed where he stood, blinking and furrowing his brow.

"Suddenly things become much… clearer," Leshai softly stated, hand rubbing the fleshy tendrils that hung from his chin. "Tash, Lord Omnus and I have some private business to discuss. Why don't you give the young apprentice a tour of the study."

"Right away… master," Tash dutifully replied as he slowly circled around the desk. The Human apprentice stood face to face, or rather, waist to face with the child. Exchanging no words, Tash directed the alien toward a nearby door with the subtle wave of his hand. Syrosk remained still as he gazed toward his master who offered an affirming nod.

Together, Tash and Syrosk ventured from the meeting area, granting their masters their privacy. The two apprentices delved deeper into Lord Leshai's sanctum in silence. Side by side, they eventually came to stand in front of a rather unassuming door. Such was the overarching décor of the dwelling. Dark. Imposing. But never lavish. Never loud. Anything worth talking about spoke for itself. Such was evident when Tash opened the door at the end of the hallway.

Syrosk stared in wonder as Tash guided him into Lord Leshai's study. A circular room, robust in size and stock. Databanks lined the walls, and the areas unburdened with technological records held shelves packed with mystical artifacts. Holocron, arms, armor, and trinkets of olden Lords.

"This is the embodiment of my master's work," Tash explained. "The physical manifestations of knowledge, and the power to be acquired from them. All of this acquired within a few short years. Given enough time, we believe Lord Leshai might assume the seat of Ancient Knowledge upon the Dark Council. It is to my understanding, however, that Lord Omnus isn't much of a collector."

"His home is pretty empty," Syrosk admitted as he panned his gaze up and down the assorted treasures. "Does your master let you use any of this stuff?"

Tash let out a soft chuckle, his unease in the presence of the alien lessening. "My master isn't one for… 'letting'. He is a… calculating… individual. Stern. Dedicated to the tenets of the Sith. Gives absolutely nothing freely. Thinks everything… and I mean everything, ought to be earned."

"And you enjoy this?"

"It isn't about enjoyment. It's about becoming better. Something that is done through challenges. Many of which I have endured. My childhood. My trials at the Academy. My master's tutelage. It has been a series of harsh events and circumstances, but because of them, I will be strong. And I will keep getting stronger until I am capable of killing the man."

"You plan to kill your master?" Syrosk asked, more confused than outright shocked.

"I guess I was right in assuming you don't know much about what it means to be a Sith," Tash stated. "It is expected for an apprentice to eventually succeed their master. The nature of their upbringing perpetuates the likelihood that it is achieved through one's death. And I guess you could say it is explicitly expected of me. You are not the only one capable of reading minds."

"Your master can read minds too?"

"My master. Your master. It is but one of their talents. They are Seers. It is in their nature to possess and acquire information that ought not rest in the hands of lesser beings. They reads minds. See the future. Control and manipulate others. The nature of their talents depend on the individual, however. Omnus is a more accomplished precog, while my master… no thoughts are safe from Lord Leshai. At this very moment he is aware of the conversation we are having as he no doubt is working an agreement with your master that heavily benefits him for allowing you to continue your training."

"Are you a Seer?" Syrosk asked.

Tash remained silent for a moment as he gazed upon no particular piece in his master's collection. "No. I lack the inherent skills for mentalism. Always been more of a… hands- on kind of Sith. Instead, I've been trying to perfect my mental defenses, but alas I've not yet discovered a way to keep Leshai out. Probably never will. But that which goes unchallenged grows weak."

"I don't want to be weak," Syrosk muttered.

"Then you might make it as a Sith after all," Tash offered. "I don't know enough about you, or your master, to tell you how things might go in the future. But from what I've seen of Lord Omnus in the past, this is decidedly out of character for him. He is very self-contained. No masters. No apprentices. No subjects. No power structure of any sort. His only accolades and standings come from his work with the Academies."

"What are you saying?"

"That you're not alone in being… unusual," Tash declared. "Whether that's good or bad… only time will tell."

"Are giving me advice, or a warning?" Syrosk asked.

"All I'm giving you is information," Tash explained. "It holds no motive. No intent. No personal factors. It's just information."

"Information you've chosen to give, though. You could have kept it to yourself. So, for that, I thank you."

"I don't need your thanks. And if you truly desired that information you could have taken it yourself."

"Maybe. But I wouldn't want to," Syrosk admitted. "I know now that it bothers you whenever someone tries to read your mind."

"You'll never make it as a Sith if you remain so concerned for others' well-being."

"I don't think progression has to be at someone else's expense," Syrosk admitted

"Your personal beliefs has no influence on the matter. It is something beyond your control," Tash explained.

The two apprentices' conversation became sparse as time passed and silence began to fill the robust archives. Before long, the door behind them opened and Lord Omnus calmly stepped in, his negotiations with Lord Leshai finished.

"Syrosk, it's time to go," Omnus stoically directed.

"Syrosk?" Tash whispered to himself.

The young alien gave his fellow apprentice a departing nod before joining his master. Omnus offered his own appreciative dip of his head to the teenage Human as the two exited the study. Passing through the entrance hall, Syrosk saw Lord Leshai confidently leaning back in his chair, his eyes intently following as the pair exited the sanctum.

"I've secured us access to Leshai's facilities for the purpose of your training," Omnus explained.

"Does that include access to his artifacts?" Syrosk asked.

"Impressed by his collection were you? We'll have access to historical recordings and the like, but nothing of the treasured sort. Though I don't suppose you saw his most prized possession. One he keeps concealed and close to his heart. A talisman."

"Like yours?" Syrosk asked.

Omnus reached to hold his amulet within his fingers, looking deeply into the golden stone. "Quite. It is a common trait of those in our circle. People like us usually possess some trinket that allows us to focus particular powers."

"People like you… you mean Seers?" Syrosk suggested.

"Your talk with Tash proved enlightening did it?" Omnus said, releasing his grip on the amulet. The apprentice offered a silent nod. "He is a… strong and wise individual, even at his young age. However, if he proves to be anything like his master, I'd be careful of interactions with him."

"You're not friends with Lord Leshai?"

"Friends are a curious thing amongst Sith, of that I'm sure you'll come to understand over the course of your training. Training which will begin when we return home," Omnus detailed. Syrosk eagerly followed his master as they continued their return to their own sanctum.

* * *

Within the confined halls of Omnus' dwelling, the master and apprentice sat across from one another in the entrance hall. In their respective meditative stances, the pair kneeled in patient silence. The silence finally broken by Lord Omnus.

"When dealing with the mind, the first thing a Sith should understand is that there are five layers…"


	69. 0-18 Seers (part 4)

**Chapter Eighteen: Seers (Part Four)**

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For almost a decade, Syrosk studied under the tutelage of Lord Omnus. Honing his mind. Bolstering his spirit. Testing his body against the wilds and Lord Leshai's rather large stock of training droids.

Under the perpetually cloudy skies of midday, Lord Omnus had taken his apprentice away from the Imperial capital, away from his peer's facilities. Instead, they sat upon a hill, meditating across from one another as the dark forests surrounded them. Their minds and bodies focused, a series of hefty stones lifted themselves from the ground and began to hover. Slowly, the small boulders began to circle the pair as they focused on keeping them telekinetically afloat.

Syrosk had grown. Matured. He had seen much of the Empire that he never could have witnessed scrounging in the back alleys of Kaas City. His master had taught him much. How to control and conceal his mental prowess. How to direct it toward a singular goal. Only a few short years ago did the apprentice craft his first lightsaber, his martial training seeming to always take up a tertiary position.

As the two meditated, the hovering stones kept their steady pace, staying at an unfaltering altitude as the pair shared the burden of lifting them.

"Reach out with your mind," Omnus calmly spoke up, body still locked in the stillness of meditation. "Tell me, what do you sense?"

Syrosk followed his master's lead, remaining locked in his meditative state as he mentally scanned his surroundings. "Vine cats. Small pack. Six strong. Four hundred meters north-northwest of here. Unaware of our presence. No other mental signatures between us and the nearest Imperial outpost."

"Excellent work. You're focus has shown remarkable improvement," Omnus said, compliments subservient to his stoicism. "It can be argued that the mind is the most important aspect for a Sith to perfect. That is why so much of your training has been focused on it, and why I took an interest in you in the first place. You displayed a talent and potential beyond any of the children I've encountered as a recruiter."

"Thank you, master," Syrosk stated, still focused on keeping the stones afloat.

"The body and its senses are subservient to the mind. It drives us. It allows us to act outside the realm of simplicity. But it does not rest above all else. No, to admit so would be unbecoming of a Sith. The spirit is what ultimately reigns supreme. It is our connection to the Force from which we derive our superiority. That we must never forget."

"I'm sorry master, but I believe we've sufficiently covered the importance of the Force over the past few years," Syrosk replied with a usual deadpanned-ness.

"Few Sith possess the humility to admit that they don't understand their connection to the Force. That is what prevents them from unlocking their true potential. Most initiates believe the Force to be some material thing, something they can grasp ahold of and wring out some measure of power," Omnus explained. "In truth, nothing as powerful as the Force could ever be so simplistic. The Force is energy. It affects us. We affect it. It is a source. It is an engine, a tool. But perhaps most important to your training, it is a lens."

"A lens?"

"I'd have said a filter, but I think lens better suits the motif."

"The motif?"

"Of the Seer," Omnus explained. "The body has its limits. And although it has less, the mind does as well. Pass those through the lens of the Force, however, and those limitations are slowly peeled away. The body becomes stronger, faster, more resilient. The mind gathers information well beyond the capabilities of the natural senses. By passing the entirety of our essence through that lens, the Seer gains his power."

"But I'm not a Seer."

"No. Not yet. But you will be," Omnus declared. "You've all the potential skills. All you must learn, is how to immerse yourself into the Force. To connect your senses to that which touches everything. To reach out across the stars. To receive visions of the future. To be my successor."

"To follow in your footsteps."

"I don't intend for you to follow me. I intend for you to surpass me," Omnus explained. "To be everything I am and more."

"A recruiter?"

"A Sith unique amongst Sith. Valued for your skills despite your being an alien. The Empire has enough warriors, enough inquisitors. Enough strong bodies and capable minds. It needs people who are not only capable of defeating its enemies, but challenging itself. The Empire has become too set in its ways. Though the inevitable war may shake things up, it cannot promise the change it needs to survive. The weekly feasts, the parades, the flashy showings of luxury and excess… they are mere reminders to the populace that there is a reason to keep fighting. To keep believing in the Empire. But there are cracks in the foundation. There is a creeping decay. A cannibalism present in its ranks. If the Empire is to survive, it needs something new. Something I believe you can provide."

"I'll be in no position to do affect anything if I am not strong," Syrosk declared. "As much as I value the skills and training you've provided, there have been gaps in your tutelage. All the information in the galaxy will do me no good if I am not capable of acting on it. Leshai's combat droids have proven poor tests of martial combat. I've trained my mind. Accompanied you on recruitment mission. I understand you one day hope for me to take your place, but I've my own desires. Though many of them align with yours, I'll not see them go unfulfilled."

"I… understand," Omnus stated. "I have been neglecting your martial training, likely because my line of work never called for direct confrontation. But lest I contradict my own creed, I must be open to progress. I will give you the training you seek, but first, I must impart upon you some prudent information."

"Very well, master," Syrosk offered, reaffirming his meditation.

"Sith have always possessed a curious relationship with the Force," Omnus began. "We seek power. We seek that power through the dark side of the Force. You'll not find many Imperials willing to espouse the dangers of that path. The dark side degenerates the body, it clouds the mind, it shatters the spirit… if you cannot control it. And it demand utter control. Otherwise it will be in control of you. It allows the body to drive itself on only emotion and pain. It allows Sith to channel destructive energies from their fingertips. But it does not grant peace. It does not grant its knowledge except to only the strongest and most dedicated Sith. A Seer cannot draw from the dark side without countless years of practice… and drastic sacrifice. Sometimes a warrior seeped in death will be granted a vision of future destruction, but sustained precognition is beyond their reach. What you possess now is involuntary. A self-defense mechanism. Automated for your own protection, much like your heartbeat. And like a heartbeat, you've some measure of control over it, but not yet enough to be a proper Seer. And only through the Force can you attain proper control."

"So what you're saying is. The Force is my greatest ally as well as my greatest enemy."

"Your greatest restrictor and liberator," Omnus added. "You must learn to balance the body, mind and spirit."

"As well as the light side and dark side of the Force," Syrosk suggested.

Omnus took pause. "There are some things in the universe that cannot be balanced. Some things, that will not cease until they see the other destroyed. And if you find yourself caught between them, they'll see you destroyed as well."

"I see. Then how do I tap into the Force as a Seer would?"

"Let me show you…"

* * *

The day's training ended, and more like it would follow. Lord Omnus instructed his apprentice in the ways of the Seer, reaching out even beyond the threshold of his own mind. Amidst the dark forests of Dromund Kaas, he would meditate, sensing the creatures that populated the shadows. Seeing the paths they'd traveled, and the ones they currently tread upon. Each life, each tree, each stone had a story to tell. Taking his already honed mind, Syrosk slowly learned to pass it through the lens of the Force, seeing that which could not be seen.

For months he would train in such a manner with his master. Solely guided along the singular path of perfecting the mind. The apprentice was unsatisfied with his master's handling of other aspects. His lightsaber had seen little use. His martial prowess paled in comparison to his mental capabilities.

On his own time, on his own terms, Syrosk walked through the halls of the Citadel alone, one particular destination in mind. As he eventually came to a stop in front of a familiar door, his senses told him that only a single denizen rested behind it, in line with his calculations. The alien delivered a few firm knocks to the door, and patiently awaited an answer. A few moments later, the door would rescind, a familiar Human greeting his guest.

"Tash," Syrosk calmly greeted.

"Syrosk," Tash warmly replied. "Are you here for a training session."

"You could say that."

"Well, feel free to come inside, the battle room should be in ready condition."

"Actually, I had something else in mind," Syrosk stated as he entered the sanctum. "It is to my understanding that Lord Leshai is occupied off-world with some sort of excavation, and he's left you in charge of his affairs on Dromund Kaas."

"It would seem my master's not as good at keeping secrets as he thinks he is," Tash joked. "Or maybe you've just come far along in your training to be privy to such information."

"That is what I wished to discuss," Syrosk explained. "I imagine your master hasn't left you with much to do in his absence. Meanwhile, I have been somewhat dissatisfied with my own master's ability to provide martial training."

A smile stretched across the Human's face. "Ah, you want a sparring partner. I must admit, things do get a bit boring around here. But that doesn't exactly dismiss the fact that I'd basically be freely aiding my master's rival's apprentice. Something I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate. And something I'm not exactly too thrilled about either."

"I do not intend to merely take what I desire from you. I propose a trade."

"A trade? Well, I'm always interested in making an exchange. What are your terms?"

"You provide me the necessary skills I lack, and I will provide the same to you."

"While I'm sure the sparring would help me a little, I don't know if I'd call it necessary."

"No, but I could offer you something else," Syrosk suggested. "Something you so greatly desire."

"And what might that be?" Tash asked.

"I can stop Leshai from getting into your head."

Tash continued to stare at his fellow apprentice, smile still plastered across his face. "Alright. You have a deal."


	70. 0-19 Seers (part 5)

**Chapter Nineteen: Seers (Part Five)**

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Deep within the Citadel in Kaas City, Syrosk patiently waited outside a heavily secured room. The entry doors were tall and wide, and at each side a crimson sentinel stood watch. Imperial Guardsmen defended the chamber where the Dark Council, supreme leaders of the Sith Empire, held their meetings.

Syrosk stood adamant, with his eyes firmly affixed upon the door. He had long ago shed his simplistic robes in favor of a suit of black battle armor beset by a heavy cloak. Silence filled the halls, but the promise of whispers yet remained within the council chambers. Syrosk focused his mind, tried to gain some insight into the proceedings, but there was such a fog, an overhanging cloud of darkness, that he was unable to pierce the veil despite all his attempts. None could know of the Dark Council's musings unless willingly permitted.

Syrosk waited for minutes, maybe hours, for someone to step from the chamber doors. That time finally came with the subtle parting of the entryway, and passing through it to meet him was the apprentice's master.

"Master…" Syrosk began, before being hushed by the master's calm raising of his hand.

"Come with me Syrosk. We've much to discuss."

The two walked the halls of the Citadel, Omnus leading them back to his sanctum with an unusually tepid pace.

"Did your meeting with the Dark Council go smoothly?" Syrosk asked as he walked by his master's side.

"You could say that," Omnus calmly stated. "I've been given the rank and title of Darth. And apparently I fall under the Sphere of Production and Logistics, which I found curious. Though I suppose our work does consist primarily of transportation and trafficking, and the Councilor seemed pleasant enough.

Syrosk's eyes widened as he continued to follow his master. "I'd have expected a different response to being given such an honor."

"I'd not cast off decades of stoicism now," Omnus declared. "As important as the promotion is, it holds nothing compared to what is to come."

Syrosk had expected his master to elaborate, but he had instead fallen to silence as they made their way back to their dwelling. The apprentice dutifully followed his lead in movement and thought. Safely within the confines of their sanctum, however, Darth Omnus rescinded his silence.

"My work recruiting for the Academies caught the eye of the Dark Council. But it is not the past that most interested them, but the future," Omnus explained.

"Did you impart upon them a vision?" Syrosk asked.

"No. In fact the opposite. I was given access to some of the most securely kept information in the Empire. I was given a taste of what the future holds for the Sith."

"What did you learn?"

"War is coming. The war for which we've been preparing for centuries. It's finally coming. And we have a part to play."

"I'd assume every Sith will have their part to play," Syrosk stated.

"But we have the honor being amongst the first to return to the Sith homeworld… Korriban." Syrosk looked upon his master with a contained wonder. "When we first met, I had given you a glimpse of the world. Now the Empire plans to retake it as one of our first goals. They seek to reestablish the Korriban Academy."

"And they'll seek to repopulate it," Syrosk suggested.

"Exactly. I've dreamed of this day. Seen it through visions of desire rather than understanding. And now it lies within my grasp," Omnus declared. "But I couldn't have gotten to this point without you, my apprentice. You've aided me in seeking out Force sensitives and greatly expediting the recruitment process. You've given me something to focus on. You've given me a drive I'd not possess had I never taken you under my wing all those years ago."

"I'm honored that you value my contributions, master," Syrosk stated with a subtle bow of his head.

"The honor is mine. You've persisted despite a society that would see you forever shunned as a lesser being. But we challenged the idea that an alien could never possess the same raw skill and potential as a Human or Pureblood. And now we can challenge that even further."

"I'm afraid I do not understand."

"It's simple. You of course know of the privileges afforded so someone who is a Darth. One in particular is the ability to grant someone under his guidance the title of Sith Lord."

"You mean…"

"Yes. You deserve this… Lord Syrosk. And you also deserve this…" Omnus' words trailed as he reached around his neck, and pulled his amulet over his head. The silver chord clenched within his fist, the golden gem dangled and glistened in the light. "Consider this the end of your training as a Seer. Anything more from this point forward you must discover yourself."

Syrosk watched as his master extended his hand, gifting him the amulet he had worn since the day they had met. The apprentice hesitantly accepted the item before carefully maneuvering it around his horns and over his head. Holding the amulet within his gloved palm, he found himself becoming lost in the golden gem.

"What does it do?" Syrosk asked.

"It provides focus… and guidance. Believe in it and your path with become clear, even when you are consumed by doubt," Omnus explained. "Come now. We've preparations to make.

* * *

_28 BTC_

It was time for war. The Sith Empire had emerged from the darkness, formally making its presence known. The first fleet to appear was approached by a diplomatic convoy on the end of the Outer Rim. They were attacked. They were destroyed. They survived only long enough to broadcast images of the invaders. The galaxy at large would come to know of the Sith Empire. To know of its strength.

The galactic conflict had begun. The Empire threw the entirety of its might at its targets. Republic worlds fell, by conquest or by choice, multiple systems having had puppet governments installed years ago. The turned worlds turned against the Republic fleets stationed above them. In the hectic chaos, the Republic could only hope to rally every available ship to bolster their failing defenses. This however, meant calling upon the ships patrolling the Korriban system.

In the dark space above the Sith's homeworld, a massive fleet materialized from hyperspace. Capital ships and fighters descended upon the orbiting station and remaining security patrols protecting Korriban. Fiery bolts of energy lashed out Republic defenders, tearing lesser vessels immediately asunder. Whilst the larger forces dealt with the space station, small strike teams headed toward the planet's surface to retake their ancestral home.

Within the cockpit of a Fury-class cruiser, Darth Omnus stood unflinching as the chaos of battle encircled the ship. Hands folded neatly behind his back, his gaze was firmly affixed upon the planet as the Imperial pilot flew them closer with each passing second.

Near the rear of the ship, two figures stood ready for battle. Lord Syrosk possessed his usual battle armor, with the addition of a featureless helmet that masked the entirety of his visage, his two horns jutting from its sides. Beside the black juggernaut was a man similarly garbed, though his smiling face remained utterly unprotected. Lord Tash.

"This is it," Syrosk spoke up. "Korriban. Home of the Sith."

"I'm more interested in the prospect of battling my first Jedi," Tash admitted.

"Really? Not the prospect of your ancestral home? The tombs? The artifacts?"

"I may have inherited my master's assets, but not his desire for all things ancient and mystical. I'd like to see if all this training ends up for naught against an opponent who isn't a Sith."

"Well, do take care not to destroy everything on your warpath. We'd like as much of the Academy left intact as possible."

The ship's intercom chirped as Darth Omnus reached out to the Sith from the cockpit. "Syrosk. Lord Tash. We're passing through the planet's atmosphere. Scans show little ground forces, but whatever is present will have to be dealt with directly. Prepare yourselves for a hostile landing."

"I'm surprised your master is actually heading directly into a battle," Tash admitted. "He never seemed the most hands-on type of Sith."

"He isn't. But he's dreamed of setting foot on Korriban as long as he's been recruiting for the other Academies," Syrosk explained. "Being one of the first to do so is an added boon."

"With the war in full swing, I imagine you two will be busy once we retake Korriban," Tash stated.

"And I assume you'll be wading headfirst into countless battles in the near future," Syrosk countered.

The Human let out a soft chuckle, "Now, now, Syrosk. I've gained a bit of subtlety since we were mere sparring partners."

The comm came on once again. "We are fast approaching the old Academy grounds. We're struggling to find a suitable landing area for the ship."

"No need," Tash declared as he pressed a button near the rear hatch. Red lights began to flash as the vessel's entrance opened mid-flight, the sight of the passing landscape beneath them greeting the two Sith.

"What was that about subtlety?" Syrosk asked with a raspy chortle. Turning his attention to a nearby panel, the alien sent a message to the cockpit. "Get us as close as possible. We'll handle things while you find a proper landing spot. I'll make sure the entrance is clear by the time you arrive, master."

Without another word, the two Sith Lords leapt from the cruising vessel toward the surface of Korriban, lightsabers ignited, their first targets in their sights.


	71. 0-20 Lies (Part 1)

**Chapter Twenty: Lies (Part One)**

_65 BTC_

In a quaint dwelling in the residential district of Kaas City, there was only silence. Three figures, motionless. The mother. The father. The son. The first two lay dead, the first at the hands of the second, the seconds at the hands of the third. The Human child sat shivering in the corner, head buried in his arms as his hands shook, the very hands that were tightly clenched around his father's neck a few minutes prior.

The boy was alone. For now. Soon, men would come to take him to his proper place. To the one of the Academies. For within him rested the power of the Force, waiting to be unlocked. A potential, one that had been kept from him. Kept from his father. The signs were there, the budding traits of Force sensitivity. But even in this time of prosperity and patriotism, some still feared the consequences of putting their young through the trials. They valued protection and obscurity over their duty to the Empire. Such thoughts required protection and obscurity themselves, lest they be extinguished by those who held the Sith's values above all else. The Sith themselves.

Such discoveries rarely required excess mediation, as the justice of the Sith was righteous and swift. But such values rarely transfixed fully unto the minds of children. And where conflicting thoughts prevailed within the Empire, only death could follow.

* * *

_57 BTC_

Within the halls of the Dromund Kaas Academy, a gathering was taking place. A group of students, eight strong, stood in a large dueling circle, the eyes of their superiors watching from a distance. Eight of the finest Human acolytes had been gathered for one purpose, to uncover amongst them the single most powerful individual. By way of death match. One sponsored by a Sith Lord seeking an apprentice.

Lord Leshai stood next to the overseer who had gathered the eight teenagers from the Academy. The Pureblood looked upon them with a dulled stoicism as they readied themselves, showing no sign of interest amongst the candidates. The students remained focused on themselves for the most part, not daring to cast an errant glance toward their patron. The entirety of their focus was put toward the upcoming battle, which only one of them would be walking away from. Each acolyte possessed only the barest of trainee's robes and a basic training saber. This was a measure of skill, not equipment.

As the acolytes prepared, two stood apart from the rest of the group, in position and in action. Where everyone else was silent and isolated, these two engaged in hushed whispers together.

"This is it, the chance to be an apprentice," spoke the first. He was young, and though his face was unburdened by scars, a Sith rune had been inscribed upon the left half of his face by way of a tattoo.

"Yes, a shame only one of us can be the victor, but such is the nature of these things," spoke the second. He matched the first in age, but in his eight years at the Academy, he had not accumulated a single scar upon his pristine face.

"Yeah, but when have we just accepted things for the way they are?"

"We are not dealing with Academy staff here, we are dealing with a wishes of a Sith Lord. He desires an apprentice. He will find one, despite our wishes."

"He intend to whittle us down to a single candidate. But if we were the last two left standing… we could refuse to do battle. It's not out of the ordinary for a Lord to take two apprentices."

"It's also not out of the ordinary for someone of his caliber to strike us both down for our insolence."

"Then we can at least ensure that we remain the final candidates. Better than neither of us becoming an apprentice."

"I see. Then until we're the last ones left standing… a partnership."

"Agreed."

"Then let's do this."

The two separated as the overseer approached the gathering of acolytes. Forming a large circle, the students brandished their sabers and ignited their energy arrays. The overseer spoke of the match's conditions. A battle to the death. The last survivor would become the apprentice of Lord Leshai. Once the match had started, the only way out was to win, or to expire. To forfeit was to forfeit whatever life yet remained within the combatant.

With the deft rise and fall of his hand, the overseer had signaled for the battle to commence. The melee began with the careful studying of one another, no student willing to break formation first. With careful precision, the conspirator duo lashed out first, beginning the hostilities proper. The acolytes each focused their attention on a single opponent, splitting the battle into four concurrent duels. Each student displayed a great martial prowess, the overseer having chosen eight students of relatively equal skill and training.

It wasn't long before the first acolyte was driven to the ground, and not long after that that he was utterly defeated. Though lacking the swift lethality of a true lightsaber, the acolytes' weapons were sufficiently capable of brutally ending a fellow students life. The melee continued as one by one the contestants fell. Cuts, bruises, and scorched flesh plagued the dwindling pool of acolytes, but their resolve never faltered.

When only three remained, the tattooed student lashed out with one final series of strikes toward his unaligned foe. Piercing his defenses, his opponent laid at his feet his life slowly creeping away from him. As the fallen acolyte's breath grew ever weaker, the tattooed individual looked upon his victim trying to catch his own. Amidst the heavy panting the student managed to speak.

"Alright, it looks like-"

A resounding thwack resonated throughout the chamber as the length of a training saber swept across his face. The might of the blow sent the acolyte twirling and tumbling toward the ground. As his arms struggled to lift his weakened body, the damage had already been done. His tattoo had been overwritten by the deep and burning gash that had been struck upon his cheek. As he writhed upon the floor, whatever words attempted to make it past the student's lips were inhibited by his mangled teeth and the growing pool of blood that poured from him.

"B…b…ba…"

The last remaining acolyte stood over him, looking upon him with pain in his eyes. "I'm sorry my friend, but I couldn't risk it." Without another word, the Human raised his weapon high, and brought its weight down with the full expression of his might upon his victim's skull. Then he did so again. And again. And again, each time a barbaric growl slipping past his gritted teeth as his eyes began to water.

When the victor finally ceased, the chamber fell silent. Lord Leshai looked upon the last acolyte left standing with the same expression he possessed before the battle. Slowly, he approached the dueling circle, eventually passing its threshold with a lackluster gait. Carefully, he walked around or stepped over the corpses that lay between him and the remaining contestant.

The young Human was bent over in exhaustion, using his training saber as support, his short blonde hair damp with sweat. He raised his head to see the Sith Lord before him. He towered over him, maybe not in height, but definitely in presence. Black robes with flowing red accents. Crimson skin. Blood-red eyes that locked with his own.

"What is your name boy?" Lord Leshai coldly asked.

"My name… is Tash," the boy answered. Tash's gaze lowered, where his eyes fell upon a remarkable amulet that hung from the Sith Lord's neck. His eyes became lost in the red gemstone that seemed to glow and pulse in beat with his own heart. Then, the Human felt a creeping sting in the back of his mind.

"No. No it isn't," Leshai bluntly said. Tash raised his gaze once more, staring at the cold and dominating Sith.

"It is now," Tash declared.

"Very well, but you'll come to realize that it is pointless to try and keep secrets from me," Leshai stated. "But regardless, you are now officially my apprentice."

"Thank you, master."

"Don't thank me. I have given you nothing, and I never will. Anything you desire must be earned. I will merely provide the necessary challenges to motivate you toward such earnings. And should you find yourself insufficiently motivated, I will personally end your pitiful excuse for an existence. Is that understood?"

"Yes, master," Tash stated.

Lord Leshai refused to break eye contact with his new apprentice, continually staring with his harsh visage. "Already a regret begins to fester within you. Such weakness will be purged."

Without another word, the Sith Lord began to depart. Still injured from his battle, Tash could only struggle to keep up with his new master, but he knew better than to offer any words of protest. Following in the Pureblood's shadow, the Human limped back toward the Lord's sanctum across Kaas City.


	72. 0-21 Lies (part 2)

**Chapter Twenty One: Lies (Part Two)**

Lord Leshai and his new apprentice had finally arrived at the Sith's sanctum within the Kaas City Citadel. Tash had not recovered fully from his fight at the Academy, and the long trek to the dwelling was not helping things. Stepping into the sanctum after his Lord, the Human gazed at the fascinating dwelling. Utterly simplistic in its form yet an extension of his master's designs. Traditional Citadel architecture and furniture, accented with flowing red banners and tapestries. Tight halls and high ceiling stretching deeper into the compound, mysteries laying behind each new door.

"This is my home," Leshai coldly stated. "By extension, it is yours as well. It does not, however, belong to you. Nothing here does. You'll have access only to things you yourself have earned by your own merit. Until then, touch nothing."

"Okay. Do I get a room?" Tash hesitantly asked.

Leshai paused as he stroked the fleshy tendrils hanging from his chin. "There is an empty office I have no use of. You may have that as a reward for your success at the Academy. There's no furniture so you'll be sleeping on the floor."

"Can I at least take a shower?"

"Tomorrow I suppose, if only to prevent you from contaminating any of my belongings."

"What about my stuff? We left the Academy before I could grab anything," Tash explained.

"Assuming you haven't been given a task, you may come and go at your leisure. Once the other students realize you are gone, I doubt they will honor any claims of ownership, so I suggest you retrieve what you want sooner rather than later." Tash had no further objections, or rather, he had no desire to speak them. "Your room is down this hall. If you see a chamber with something inside of it, you're in the wrong place. Goodnight."

Lord Leshai slinked away without another word, leaving the apprentice in the foyer, tired and exhausted. As the Pureblood disappeared into the deeper halls of the sanctum, Tash began to search for his room. Slowly he ventured forth with a limping gait, the tip of his training saber dragging against the floor.

Passing through the dark halls, the Human came across his master's study. The extensive room held an impressive catalogue of artifacts and collections unlike anything he had seen back at the Academy, and the shelves that lined the circular room still held room for future acquisitions.

One particular item caught the apprentice's eye, a holocron of Sith make. The small pyramid shone with a crimson glow. Tash ignored all else, staring at the artifact, reaching out with his hand. Just as his fingers were about to grace the holocron, he recalled his hand, wary of his master's words, and the possible consequences for defying them.

Instead, he was on his way, content with isolation. Content with nothing to his name. For now, at least. Tash eventually came to a completely empty room. Square, it'd be compact if not for the utter lack of furniture. Carefully, he laid his weapon down by the door before making his way to the room's center. Cold, metallic walls surrounded him, closed in on him. He was alone. No possessions. No friends. No family.

As he lowered himself to the ground he struggled to find comfort in his position, but none the less he endured. And he would continue to endure for as long as it was necessary. And it would definitely be necessary.

The hours could not have passed any slower, even as Tash had managed to fall asleep. He dreamt of his years at the Academy, and their deadly culmination. He was haunted by the face of his former compatriot. He knew more trials lay ahead of him. He knew he'd have to be stronger if he wanted to survive. If he wanted to be a Sith.

Morning came, as much as morning could on Dromund Kaas. The Human was granted access to the sanctum's bathroom where he attempted to cleanse himself of the events of the days prior. Stepping out of the shower, the apprentice realized the only clothes he possessed were coming apart at the seams. Everything else yet remained back at the Academy.

Tash readied himself for the day ahead before coming across his master in a seemingly deep meditative state. Just as it seemed as if nothing could get to him, the young Human heard the words of his master scratching at the walls of his mind. Lord Leshai was giving him permission to leave the sanctum, but required he be back at a specific time. Time was not on his side. Even in the event everything went smoothly, a trip to the Academy and back would leave little room to beat his master's deadline.

The apprentice proceeded to his destination on foot, possessing no credits to expedite the procedure. Arriving at his former institution, the Human was filled with a peculiar feeling. Though he still wore the robes of an acolyte, everything seemed foreign. Like he didn't belong there. The other students didn't believe he did either. Had it not been for the careful interference of an overseer, Tash might have faced the deadly approach of students looking to put down someone lucky enough to escape the fate they remained attached to.

The apprentice returned to his old dwelling, a small room afforded to him as one of the upperclassmen. A comfortable bed, in retrospect. A trunk of personal belongings. Multiple sets of clean, pressed robes. Long he had looked upon the small room with disdain, thinking it unbefitting of someone destined for greatness. Now, he wanted nothing more than to have it back. Knowing what he had to return to, he figured that to be as good a solution as any.

Tash had gleaned from the occasional conversation the level of sway his master possessed with the Academy. Thus was born the apprentice's first scheme. He wanted a room like he once had, and was going to have it. Specifically, he was going to have that exact one. Through a bit of guile, the young Human managed to convince the Academy officials to deliver his belongings to Lord Leshai's sanctum, included the furniture he rightfully had no right to claim, with the promise of credits to be paid at a later date. As his first attempt, it was a simple play. He didn't know if or when he would have any credits, or what the consequences were for abusing his master authority without his knowledge.

He was willing to take a little punishment if it meant getting what he wanted. Which was good, because there was punishment to be dealt upon his return to his master. He had missed the deadline of his return by ten minutes. He had expected an extra trial, some feat that would lead to his exhaustion or humiliation as per Academy standard. Instead, he witnessed the silent motion of his master extending his hand, and the quick flash as lightning arced from his fingertips and lashed out at his body.

The dark energy surged forth, wracking his insides as the lightning coursed through every fiber of his being. Time slowed as mere seconds of torture seemed endless. The attack was pure agony, doing no bodily damage, but brutally attacking every nerve and pain receptor it could find. The world grew dark, and Tash fell to his knees before the flat of his face collided with the ground.

He slowly came to, how long afterwards he did not know. Lord Leshai stood over him, ever the stoic, his piercing gaze refusing to relent. The Sith muttered something, or maybe he spoke plainly and the apprentice's hearing had not yet recovered. Whether it was some catty remark or some profound words of wisdom, he would not know, nor ever know. But from that day forward, he vowed to never fail again.

But in time, he would come to fail again. With each new trial, there was some condition, some qualifier that despite his best efforts he could not achieve. And so he was punished. He would act too slowly. Shocked. He would finish too early. Shocked. He would scuff his Lord's walls moving in his new furniture. Shocked. He would sneak a peek into his master's archives. Shocked.

The pain never lessened. Lord Leshai had perfected the art. But Tash endured. He even grew stronger. He would come to understand pain. Though his master's attacks forever yielded agony, he could defend himself against all others. Whereas in his early years at the Academy, the pain would deter him, now it only pushed him forward. Tash was motivated. He wanted to be stronger, and for the first time, he had undeniable proof that he was capable of achieving such. Before his first year of training under Lord Leshai had even completed, he had pushed his body past what he thought possible. He grew confident, confident enough to delve into his master's artifacts and repositories despite the near infallible retaliations.

Each new day brought new training. New ways for Leshai to punish his apprentice. New ways to deprive him of what it was he desired. The Pureblood had sworn he wouldn't give anything to his apprentice, and he had upheld his word. For any true Sith, must learn to take.


	73. 0-22 Lies (part 3)

**Chapter Twenty Two: Lies (Part Three)**

For months the apprentice trained, settling into his new home. Each day brought new tests, new trials, new ways to continue what began the day Tash left the Academy. Each success brought with it an increased strength, endurance, coordination. Each failure brought a better understanding of Force lightning.

Within the battle room of Lord Leshai's sanctum, the battered chassis of a sparring droid fell to the ground, a confident Tash standing over it, his training saber in a similar state of disrepair. The Human looked over the defeated sparring droid as oil leaked and sparks flew from its wounds. The saber in his hand flickered as the energy array of its bent blade struggled to stay on. With a gruff sigh the apprentice tossed the weapon to the floor with the rest of the scrap.

"Honestly master, I think we've moved well beyond the point of training sabers and these pitiful droids," Tash declared.

"We have, have we?" Leshai stated, adamant in his cold stoicism.

"I have earned the right to have a lightsaber of my own, you have to admit that."

"You'll find I have to admit nothing, and that I am the one who dictates what it is that you have earned."

"Apprentices less accomplished than I have already received a lightsaber from their masters."

"Then I suggest you seek another master if you find yourself so dissatisfied." With a begrudging grunt, Tash kicked the fallen droid chassis before heading toward the door. "Where do you think you are heading?"

"Out."

Without another word, the apprentice left his master alone in the battle room as he left the sanctum for the streets of Kaas City. On his way out of the Citadel, the Human saw the comings and goings of Sith and their underlings. Masters and apprentices walking side by side. Lords conversing with Imperial officers and technicians. Business as usual.

A range of emotions brewed with the apprentice as he trudged out of the Citadel. Anger. Fury. Disappointment. Then, intrigue, when his eyes fell upon a familiar face. Making his way from the Citadel was a young Human. Someone Tash had met at the Academy. Someone who had gained his apprenticeship a year prior. Someone with a lightsaber at his side.

"Hey, Serron!" Tash called out. The other Human perked up, looking around for his addresser, a small metallic box resting within his clutches. Tash offered the quick wave of his hand, and received a hesitant one in return as the other apprentice balanced the package beneath his arm. The confused Human stopped dead in his tracks as Tash rushed over to greet him proper.

"Oh, hey," Serron muttered as the other apprentice drew close. "You were a student at the Academy. What was it? 'V' something… or…"

"It's Tash now," he informed. "New master, new life. You know? So where are you heading?"

"Making a delivery for my master. Finally escaped the Academy's clutches, did you? Pretty lucky," Serron teased as he continued toward his destination, Tash following closely by his side.

"Yeah, apprenticed to Lord Leshai."

"Leshai? Heh, okay, maybe not so lucky," Serron replied.

"You know of him?"

"Any Sith who deals in the artifact trade knows of Lord Leshai."

"You some kind of artifact hunter?" Tash joked.

"No, but my master's had dealings with him in the past. I mean, he's no expert on the ancient stuff, but he isn't one to let an item of power slip through his grasp. No Sith is."

"Understandable," Tash admitted. "My master does… take pride in his acquisitions… and his secrets."

"Well, as his apprentice, I'm sure he'll pass them onto you eventually."

"Not so sure about that," Tash declared. "These past few months of training, it's been nothing but brutal, unforgiving physical trials."

"Physical trials? You mean he's not training you to be a Seer?"

"A Seer?"

"Hah! You weren't kidding about him telling you anything," Serron stated. "You know, that actually makes sense, given his line of work."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he's a Seer. He has access to information other Sith don't. They look into the Force itself. Sometimes they see the future. Sometimes they see the connections of fate. Now, your master? He sees items touched by the Force. Artifacts left behind by the Sith of old. Holocrons. Weapons. Trinkets. Anything some powerful being some years ago poured some power into. Sounds to me like he doesn't want a successor, he just wants some dumb muscle to help him retrieve the things he sees in his visions."

Tash fell silent as his pace slowed. Serron's words stirred within his mind. Could he be telling the truth? Leshai chose his apprentice with a test of strength. He has kept the knowledge of his Holocrons and databanks out of reach. Each and every trial presented has done nothing but focus solely on martial prowess.

Tash began to fall behind. Serron paid no attention to the sullen apprentice, having no investment in his company. The Human's gaze sunk to the ground, his eyes darted back and forth in panic. His fists clenched and shook. Looking up, he saw Serron conversing with a taxi droid.

"Hey… Serron," Tash called out. His words were soft and wavering. He trudged forth, Serron watching his slow approach as he stood beside a rented speeder. "Do you think I could get a ride?"

"A ride? You don't even know where I'm going," Serron said as he entered the vehicle.

"I know. It's just… I'm not in the best of places right now," Tash admitted. "Honestly, I think I'd prefer the Academy to… to this. I hold no loyalties to Leshai. If you could help me out, I could definitely return the favor."

"What are you offering?"

"You know more about Leshai's possessions and capabilities than I. If I were so inclined, I might be able to steer those toward the benefit of your master. Or if you'd prefer, yourself."

Serron continued to stare down the other apprentice as he considered the offer. He wasn't exactly content with his place in life either. His mouth stretched into a sly smirk. With a wave of his hand, Serron offered Tash the passenger seat of the speeder. He accepted. Taking control, Serron lifted the vehicle and set out for the Dromund Kaas wilderness, intent on delivering his master's package to a distant outpost, as well as partaking in a mutually beneficial dialogue with his new friend. Tash had other plans.

* * *

Hours passed, and at the mouth of the Citadel, a speeder approached. The taxi droid scanned and documented the return of the vehicle, not bothering to note that it possessed one less passenger than when it departed. Parked amongst the lineup of rentable speeders, Tash hopped out of the driver's seat. With a bounce in his step he approached the Citadel, newly acquired lightsaber at his hip, newly acquired metal box resting beneath his arm.

Within Leshai's sanctum, the Sith Lord meditated within his quarters. Such meditations were interrupted by intrusion of a rambunctious apprentice.

"Returned, have we?" Leshai coldly stated, his body refusing to budge from its meditative position.

"Yeah, with a gift," Tash warmly admitted, tossing Serron's package to the ground in front of his master. The Pureblood opened his eyes, focusing them on the mysterious item. With the power of the Force, he lifted it from the ground and brought it to eye level. Narrowing his gaze, it's lid separated from the rest of the box, revealing its contents to the Sith Lord.

"How did you come to acquire this?" Leshai asked with the stern arch of his brow.

"I guess we all have our secrets," Tash haughtily answered.

"No. No we don't," Leshai declared as he turned his gaze toward his apprentice. "This box contains a holocron, one I parted ways with some time ago. You took it from its owner, or rather it's owner's apprentice. Followed him to the wilds, murdered him, and looted his corpse. Am I wrong?"

"If you knew, why ask?" Tash asked, increasingly flustered.

"I was being cordial," Leshai admitted, completely deadpan. "So, you went and took what you desired. A weapon and a gift to appease your master. But not before acquiring whatever knowledge he possessed before you ended his life. All in all, a well-executed plan, if not accounting for my relation with Serron's master."

Tash could only stare at his master as his visage slowly turned into a harsh grimace. "How?"

"How, what?"

"How could you possibly know all that?"

"Well, you told me," Leshai declared, slowly raising himself from the floor, Tash frozen in his place. The apprentice felt some burden wash over him, his master's presence towering over him. "You cannot keep secrets from me, no matter how hard you try. Whatever you know, I know."

"Fine, you can read minds. But we both know there are ways to keep telepaths out."

"You don't get it. This isn't about mental intrusions and safeguards. This is about us being connected. Bound. Linked, by more than just Sith convention," Leshai explained, the gem around his neck glowing a bright crimson. "Your knowledge becomes my knowledge. Your strength, my strength. You know now that I am a Seer. That I specialize in the divination and acquisition of Sith artifacts. I can sense items powerful in the dark side of the Force from across the galaxy. I can read minds or tear them asunder, should I choose. But the connection you and I possess stems not from my powers, but from this." Leshai palmed the glowing amulet as Tash remained awestruck.

"Between the master and his apprentice rests a bond. A code," Leshai continued. "The powerful should never be forced to lower themselves for the sake of the weak, but it is their duty to ensure that strength endures. Whether it be in themselves, or the next generation. But as long as there have been Sith, there have been countless different views on how to pass on that strength. As well as countless different ways to cheat the system. One particular Sith long ago, fearing his life might be cut short by an overly ambitious apprentice, forged this amulet. It gives its wearer direct insight to the thoughts of his followers, regardless of either party's mental capabilities. This is not some Seer's trinket, for I require no such item. This is the embodiment of superiority."

"So what, I'm just supposed stay your apprentice, knowing that no matter what, I'll never be able to surpass you?" Tash shouted.

The Pureblood sharpened his gaze. "Still you do not understand. I believe in no gods. I believe that every individual has their limits. If I siphon your strength, if I know everything you know, that just means you'll have to try harder than any other to take the place of your master. Unlike other Sith, you'll not be allowed to ascend unless you are utterly deserving of it."

"Am I supposed to believe this is all for my benefit?"

"Tell me, are you not stronger than you were the day you left the Academy? Wiser? Did you not procure your own livable quarters? Do you not now possess a lightsaber?" Leshai listed. "Just because I haven't directly given you something, doesn't mean I am not responsible for its acquisition. I'll not assuage your expectations. The knowledge you now possess has earned you no more favors than you held prior. The difficulty will never lessen, but that which goes unchallenged grows weak. And I've no tolerance for weakness. You will become a proper Sith, or you will be broken. I've no vested interest in your success, and I've contingencies for whether or not you stay, and for how long you remain my apprentice. So you've a choice. Do you follow the countless easier paths that lay elsewhere? Or do you remain my apprentice?"

Tash stared at his master long and hard, thinking of his answer. He almost thought to refrain from answering, knowing the Lord had unfiltered access to what was running through his mind anyway. But he spoke aloud anyway, knowing he yet not yet lost control of his speech, and he needed to believe he still retained some control over himself.

"I'll stay," Tash declared.

"Good," Leshai stated as he raised a hand. A moment later a small arc of Force lightning leapt from his fingertips and into his apprentice. The quick burst of energy surged through his body, wracking his nerves as usual. "Don't kill your fellow Sith unless you have to. Any living asset can be controlled and utilized to your benefit. Remember that."

"Yes… master," Tash muttered as he recovered from the attack. The apprentice left for his quarters, hand tenderly resting upon the lightsaber at his side, an unwavering determination in his eyes.


	74. 0-23 Lies (part 4)

**Chapter Twenty Three: Lies (Part Four)**

The years came and went. Tash faced new challenges, encountered new faces. The most intriguing of which was the young Algo Syrosk. The Human apprentice dealt with the young alien much as he would any other Sith. With caution. Perhaps even some fear. But with the passage of time came change. Unfamiliar change.

The two apprentices' masters reached an agreement. A sharing of resources, the true cost of which was known only to them. But the immediate effect was the amount of time Tash and Syrosk found themselves in contact with one another. As a child, there was little the alien could offer the Human apprentice, aside from maybe an ear. A curious prospect, as Tash had little in the way of acquaintances, and none in the way of friends. A Sith in his position couldn't afford it.

But Syrosk was different. A good different, and yet, a scary different. But for all his differences there was familiarity. A good familiarity, and yet, a scary familiarity. Syrosk progressed as any apprentice should, but as he honed his mental capabilities, Tash was reminded of the constant intrusions offered by his own master. But he couldn't bring himself to hate Syrosk, despite his alien heritage, despite the downright benevolence of Syrosk's master compared to his own.

As the years passed, the apprentices advanced along the paths set by their masters. Syrosk was trained in the ways of a Seer. Tash was driven toward physical dominance, through the utter brutality imposed upon him. But as time moved forward, both apprentices began to want more than what their masters could offer. Would offer. Syrosk was the first to suggest a greater cooperation than mere sparring partners now and then. A trade of skills, that would permit each to reach untold potential, and to purge whatever weaknesses remained within them.

The boldness of the alien's proposition intrigued Tash. It was atypical of the reserved child he had met ten years ago. But time changes all things. Especially Sith. For all he knew, the ambitious but kind mentalist could have changed into a cold, calculating schemer. But the Human was not without schemes of his own. For he intended to kill his master one day, and Syrosk was offering a solution to the one problem that prohibited him from doing so.

Year after year, their masters grew more and more distant, and the apprentices grew closer. They relied on each other for new lessons, new trials. Lord Leshai had grown colder, lashing out at his apprentice without the typical insightful declarations following it. The Pureblood had withdrawn, tasking himself with personal ambitions rather than tending to his growing apprentice. His attention had once again returned to the artifact trade, to his skills as a Seer.

When he would emerge, it would always come alongside a task. One Tash would accompany him on. The two apprentices would accompany their masters on missions. Syrosk and Lord Omnus seeking out Force-sensitive children to place in the academies, while Tash and Lord Leshai would seek out Force artifacts to stockpile and trade.

As Syrosk spent time with his master, he began to understand his capabilities, his responsibilities. As Tash spent time with his, all he felt was doubt. He would delve into tombs, takes items by force, do everything his master was incapable of. And with each acquisition the words of Serron repeated in his mind. Each day, he wondered if he was just yet another tool in his master's arsenal.

With time, Leshai gained more and more favor with the Dark Councilor whom held the seat of Ancient Knowledge. His work earned him boons and privileges, and eventually the title of Darth. Even as his master achieved one of the ultimate honors, Tash felt little reciprocation his way. As his master ascended, he remained firmly stuck in his place as a lowly apprentice. He felt he had done more than any other in his position, and yet he had nothing to show for it.

And so once again he left his master's guidance, trying to achieve some semblance of his own sovereignty. He left Dromund Kaas, did battle, colluded with fellow Sith, partook in pleasures he never could under the watchful eye of his master. But even with his freedom, he felt himself incapable of accomplishing anything. He realized he had come to rely on earning his master's favor. Leshai's training style had indebted the student. As powerful as Tash had become, he was without funding, without a power structure. He could do nothing as an apprentice. So long as Leshai continued to exist he could not advance, and he could not break away. The final straw came the day Lord Omnus became Darth Omnus, and Syrosk became Lord Syrosk.

* * *

_30 BTC_

Within the expanded halls of Darth Leshai's sanctum, the elder Pureblood quietly meditated within his chambers. The quiet could not last in the face of the ruckus that resounded from the sanctum's entrance. Tash barged into his master's quarters, face locked in a snarl.

"Leshai!" the apprentice shouted. The Darth opened his eyes and responded with a slow, drawn out sigh. Tash barged in on is master's meditations to see him kneeling upon the floor, his back to him. "Do you know who's been given the rank of Sith Lord?"

"I've no doubt you intend to tell me," Leshai coldly muttered.

"Syrosk! His master promoted him!"

"You two trained together for quite some time. You must proud for him."

"My feelings about him aren't a factor here!"

"Aren't they? Aren't your feelings about him being given rank and title the entire reason you've decided to interrupt me?"

"This is about me and you. For decades I've served as your apprentice. For years, I've been stuck in my place while you rose to the rank of Darth, an achievement you could not have attained without my help!"

"I've countless contingencies for various circumstances," Leshai stated. "If I so desired, I could have done so without your-"

"Shut up!" Tash interrupted. "I have waited long enough!"

"For what?"

"For something! For anything! You are going to make me a Sith Lord, or else!"

"Or else what?"

"Come on, don't play stupid. You know exactly what I've been thinking. You know exactly what I plan to do."

"I suppose you're right, if for the wrong reasons," Leshai declared as he began to stand. "I know you intend to kill me if you don't get what you want. You've been working up the nerve to do so for quite some time. It was seeing your peer given the promotion you believe yourself so rightfully deserving of that triggered this confrontation. But then again, I didn't require delving into your mind to come to such a conclusion.

Tash was dumbstruck as his master turned to face him. "You're amulet… it's gone. Where is it?"

"With the rest of my collection," Leshai declared. "I suppose in your frustrated haste you haven't visited the study recently."

"The study?"

"Is empty… yes. As are my many strongholds and vaults," Leshai clarified. "You managed to trigger the ultimatum contingency. Every tangible archeological asset in my possession has been collected and put on ships bound for Republic space. There they will crash, scatter, and eventually be recover by the Jedi, to be sealed away with the other dark artifacts they seek to protect themselves from."

"WHAT? Why?" Tash exclaimed

"Because I had a vision long ago, one I had a duty to see fulfilled. One that pertains to me… and you. I have done my part. The rest is up to you."

"I'm sick and tired of your Seer nonsense! How can you call yourself Sith if you let yourself be shackled by such nonsense as visions and fate? Well that's it. I'm done. I don't need your precious little trinkets. I don't need your restrictions."

"You'll come to understand… that even should I perish, you'll not escape such restrictions," Leshai declared.

"Then there's no reason to dwell on it. If things are the same whether you are living or dead, I'd prefer dead."

"Very well. If you can kill me, you'll earn yourself the title of Sith Lord. I've arranged as much. But I'm afraid no matter the circumstances, my pride refuses to allow me to go down easily," Leshai explained as energy began to crackle between his fingertips.

"Just one thing," Tash spoke up. "Tell me, how do I plan to kill you?"

The dark lord arched a single eyebrow even as Force lightning jumped between his fingers. Sharpening his eyes, the Darth peered into those of his apprentice searching for the answers. His eyes widened when he found none. "It would seem that without my amulet, I am unable to pierce your mind's defenses."

"Wonderful," Tash softly declared. A moment later, the apprentice thrust his hands forward, sending out a powerful Force push. His master flew back, colliding with the wall behind him, cracking the hard surface. Rather than fall to the ground, the Darth found himself telekinetically held against the wall. Still in control of his hands, Leshai sought to lash out with Force lightning, but found the apprentice had already closed the gap.

Tash pinned one of his master's hands to the walls with one of his own, whilst the other thrust forward to grip the Pureblood's neck. As the apprentice clutched at his throat, Leshai gripped the wrist with his remaining free hand. Lightning passed from the master to the apprentice, surging throughout the aggressor's body. Tash didn't care. He let the dark energy course throughout his entire body, and back out his own arms into its originator. The Force Lightning traveled in a loop as the apprentice tightened his grip. As Leshai struggled for his final breath, the lightning lit up his gasping maw before it finally ceased.

The smell of charred flesh permeated the chamber. Relinquishing his grip, the Pureblood slumped lifelessly to the ground. The apprentice took a step back, marveling at his work. Though his body was in pain, he had endured his master's attack to no ill effect. A smile graced the Human's face.

He had done it. He was free. And now, he had some things to present to the Dark Council.

* * *

_28 BTC_

"We are fast approaching the old Academy grounds. We're struggling to find a suitable landing area for the ship," Darth Omnus spoke over the Fury's comm.

"No need," Tash declared as he pressed a button near the rear hatch. Red lights began to flash as the vessel's entrance opened mid-flight, the sight of the passing landscape beneath them greeting the two Sith.

"What was that about subtlety?" Syrosk asked with a raspy chortle. Turning his attention to a nearby panel, the alien sent a message to the cockpit. "Get us as close as possible. We'll handle things while you find a proper landing spot. I'll make sure the entrance is clear by the time you arrive, master."

Without another word, the two Sith Lords leapt from the cruising vessel toward the surface of Korriban, lightsabers ignited, their first targets in their sights. There was little in the way of established defenses stationed across the old Academy grounds. Light security forces, just enough to keep ordinary looters out of the nearby tombs.

The lightly defended grounds were soon overtaken by the two Sith Lords and their eventual reinforcements. Their crimson blades made short work of any security forces that dared stand in their way, slicing through cloth and flesh without effort. Eventually, none were left to oppose the Sith's arrival on their ancestral homeworld.

The battle was over. The first battle in the first war either Lord had participated in, and it was already over. As Tash walked amongst the scattered corpses that bled into the rocky terrain, he felt a disappointment wash over him. He felt as if he had been preparing for this moment his whole life, and was sufficiently let down. In his mind, he knew nothing of the Republic's true resilience, but there was a definite part of him that wished for anything but an expedited conflict.

Darth Omnus eventually found a suitable landing spot for his cruiser. Side by side, he and his apprentice were amongst the first to step foot in the remains of the Sith Academy. The elder master was awestruck with its magnificence. Lord Tash held little in regards to wonder. He had long since abandoned the sense of sacredness in anything.

Omnus and Syrosk had planned for an extended stay on Korriban, working with the Dark Council to get the Academy up and running. The other Lord possessed other interests, however. For the land stretching forth from the Academy was the Valley of the Dark Lords, where the tombs of the powerful Sith of old rested, along with all manners of treasures, troubles, and the spirits who hold domain over them.

After a few days, Tash was planning on joining the war effort alongside the dispatched warriors, when word of a local captive caught his attention. During the Battle of Korriban, a number of Republic forces had managed to escape destruction at the hands of the Sith. The reason such a gathering was even taking place was the trade and attempted smuggling of Sith artifacts.

A grave robber by the name of Farel Wickes had just finished selling a number of items before the Empire invaded. He was unsuccessful in his attempts to escape, being captured and held on the planet, where information on the surrounding tombs would be painfully extracted from him. When Tash caught word of the man's apparent fame amongst collectors of Sith artifacts in the Republic, the Lord could not pass up the unique opportunity.

* * *

Lord Tash ventured to where the grave robber was being tortured, interrupting the assigned inquisitor in progress. The room was utterly dark, the only powerful source of light the jolts of Force lightning that leapt from the inquisitor's fingertips. Upon the Lord's intrusion, the interrogator ceased.

"I'm a little busy at the moment," the inquisitor rasped.

"My name is Lord Tash, I'm here representing the Dark Council's sphere of Ancient Knowledge. I've a few questions I wish to ask of our prisoner."

"Why wasn't I informed of this?"

"I do not know, nor do I care, but I promise my business with this man will be quick and you can return to your work in a matter of moments," Tash declared, his hand politely gesturing toward the door. The inquisitor hesitantly complied, leaving the Lord alone with the grave robber.

"Are you awake?"

The prisoner offered a low groan. "Yes…" he eventually answered.

"Good. I have a series of precise question that I hope you could answer for me. No aggression. No torture. Just you, me, and some answers. And if you help me out, I can help you. Understood?" Wickes supplied a groggy nod. "Good. I need to know. Roughly two years ago, a large cache of Sith artifacts should have suddenly manifested in Republic space. Would you know anything about that?"

"A cache? I've only dealt with the stuff... that's been undisturbed for hundreds of years."

"But you've dealt with traders. Collectors. Surely you'd have heard about such a large find."

"Two years ago… the only thing that comes to mind is a particular string of finds that occurred around the same time. But the Jedi got to all of them before anyone in the trade knew of their existence."

"Alright. And what would the Jedi have done with them?"

"Same thing they do… with any Sith artifact they come across. They lock it up."

"And where might they lock it up?"

"Coruscant. The worst stuff… is hidden beneath the Jedi temple. The rest of it… is put in heavily guarded vaults across the planet." Tash looked upon the prisoner in silence. "That's all I know. Please, you have to help… they'll kill me."

"Don't worry. You've helped me a great deal. I'm sure I can work something out."

"Oh… thank you. Thank you… so much…"

Tash supplied a quick nod to the prisoner before exiting the chamber. Outside, a testy inquisitor looked upon the Lord with an arched eyebrow.

"Well?" the inquisitor muttered.

"I have everything I need, inquisitor. You may proceed with your duties."

Lord Tash left the premises. He had no interest in the gathering of artifacts left behind by long forgotten Sith. He wanted only to act and progress by his own merits. But his master was right. Even beyond his death he had shackled his apprentice. Darth Leshai had left the stipulation that should he fall by his apprentice's hand, that apprentice be given the rank of Sith Lord. But that wasn't the only agreement he made before his passing. He had made many promises to many Sith Lords. He had promised certain collectors certain artifacts, ones that he knew he'd no longer possess. The Darth had predicted his own demise, and prepared accordingly.

Leshai had left behind a series of circumstances that would challenge Tash even beyond his death. Lord Tash now balanced appeasing the Lords spurned by Leshai's broken promises, with his own vendettas. He had a set of skills that could sufficiently satisfy certain desires of any Sith, but he could not overcome the debts he owed without his master's collection. He had thought he could ignore it, but it was proving difficult as time passed. He knew that eventually, he would have to complete his master's final challenge: recovering his collection of artifacts and Sith knowledge. All of which now rest in the hands of the Jedi.


	75. 0-24 Lies (part 5)

**Chapter Twenty Four: Lies (Part Five)**

War was afoot. And yet, even a year after its initiation, Lord Tash found himself kept from the front lines. Aside from the collection his master ensured he wouldn't get his hands on, the Sith Lord inherited all of Darth Leshai's holdings. His assets. His followers. The old Pureblood had kept much from his apprentice, and soon he was finding out that just as many people were indebted to him as he was indebted to others. For once in his life he found himself holding some sway over others. Some measure of power.

Connections to the Reclamation Service. Low level officers and warriors. Both Imperial and Sith subordinates. All once controlled through the utter fear and intimidation wrought by Leshai. And now they looked to his successor for guidance. For answers. Tash didn't possess the same capacity for mental intrusions as his master, but he knew the mind didn't need to be read to be controlled.

The Sith offered something his followers had always desired, a strong guiding hand, tempered with a respect and benevolence. Tash had seen what manifested from brutality and domination. Nothing but a lust for escape and revenge. For once in his life, he was comfortable in his position, and he didn't want anyone needlessly usurping it.

He offered kindness, and received such in return. The Sith Lord had experienced what it felt like to control others. And he enjoyed it. He decided it was time to finally choose his apprentice. The Korriban Academy was already starting to field students, but Tash's interests laid elsewhere, back where he himself received his trials. Back on Dromund Kaas.

It had been decades since he had walked the halls of the Dromund Kaas Academy. It brought back no fond memories. There was little familiarity with the staff, enough time had passed for instructors and overseers to have come and gone. Wandering the halls, he observed the various students as they proceeded with their day. He had no trial planned, no tasks for any overseer. He had only the conditions for apprenticeship firmly within his mind. He knew exactly what he wanted in an apprentice, and he knew exactly when he would see it.

And see it he did. A young Human male by the name of Vai Thorel. A child of only eight years, but showing remarkable progress. The same age Syrosk was when his master took him under his wing. Tash knew from personal experience the kind of men certain masters could breed. No matter what his desires or plans, he vowed to never be the person Leshai was. He would guide his apprentice, forge him into something great, unburdened by the limitations his master had imposed on himself. But as much as he intended to shape his apprentice's mind, he wanted to ensure it remained solely his own. And for that, he required someone with special training.

Once more Tash had returned to Korriban, after he was sure his old friend wasn't out recruiting with his master.

* * *

_26 BTC_

Within Darth Omnus' chambers, Syrosk sat at a dining table, eating a simple meal alone, when a knock at his door caught his attention. The alien was intrigued to see Lord Tash standing at his doorway, a young child standing by his side.

"You've got a child," Syrosk curiously rasped. The alien's appearance varied little in the passing years. His skin had never been without a wrinkled, leathery facade. Lord Tash meanwhile seemed to be aging gracefully as he neared fifty years of age.

"An apprentice, more appropriately," Tash replied in a jovial fashion. "I figured it was my duty to take one on as I am without a master. And I figured I'd take him away from the Academy before, well, you know what those places can do to a kid."

"I never actually attended any of the Academies."

"My point exactly. Here you are, a respected alien Sith Lord, having only trained under the guidance of one dutiful master."

"Well, the levels of 'respect' are ever shifting these days. Omnus still has trouble dealing with some of the more traditionalist figures," Syrosk admitted. "But if you've no interest in enrolling him in an Academy, what are you doing on Korriban?"

"I came seeking your help, old friend."

"Have you, 'old friend'?" Syrosk repeated before looking to the child. The young Human stared right back at him, a wide smile smeared across his face. "Well, he hasn't recoiled at the sight of me, which is more than I can say for most of children I've dealt with over the years."

"Yeah, he's a got a good head on his shoulders. One I'd hope you'd be able train."

"You want the me to give him the same mental training you received?"

"Something like that," Tash admitted. "But such business can be discussed later. Can we come inside?"

"Sure," Syrosk stated as he stepped away from the door. Tash and his apprentice stepped into the cramped Academy dwelling as Syrosk returned to the dining table. Tash took the seat across from him, whilst the young apprentice wandered the area. "You know, you never did tell me about what happened… with Darth Leshai."

"The day Omnus made you a Sith Lord…I went to see him. We had been drifting further and further apart. I was sick of the way I was being treated. I wanted something, anything, better than what I had with him. But he had told me that he had some… vision, of his death. Said it was his duty to see it fulfilled. He challenged me. Said if I didn't end him then and there, I would be killed. He tried to read my mind, but he couldn't. Turns out your help saved my life."

"Why would he outright attack his own apprentice?"

"I don't know. I've always felt a disconnect with him, him being a Seer, me not," Tash explained. "Tell me, has your master had a vision that he didn't see through?"

"I can't say that he has. Omnus always said that visions were to be considered a gift, and that to ignore one could lead to negative consequences."

"I often wonder if in his later years he was losing his mind. There was always an intense darkness within him. Maybe he was at odds with his precognitive abilities. He was driven, dedicated, but a relentlessly cruel man. I don't intend to treat my apprentice the same way. If anything I was hoping to emulate Omnus."

"My master always did tell me to be cautious around yours. To this day I do not know what he gave up to earn me access to Leshai's training facilities. And as much as I could not think of losing my master, I know that not all pairs possess the relationship we do."

"Your master understands the importance of cooperation. For a time, the entire Empire did. But as time went on, we began to lash out at each other. One would think our war with the Republic would remind everyone what we are fighting for, but it seems things are just getting worse. The other Sith think our enemies too weak. They already scramble to take over the domains of any Lords who fall in battle. Things need to change."

"And how do you propose bringing about such change?"

"I inherited everything my master owned when he passed. When I met with the officers and Sith whom used to report to him, there was a fear in their eyes. They had expected me to treat them as my master did. But I wouldn't. I treated them with respect. I wasn't soft, but my no means did I needlessly beat them down. Nothing done without purpose. I may not have taken his place as a Darth, but I'm in a position to bring about some change."

"You really think you have enough to make a dent in the established order of things?"

"It's a start," Tash declared. "And think about it. You and your master, just two people, hold a great sway in who is accepted into the Korriban Academy. This place is on the verge of becoming the Empire's premier training institution, more so than any other Academy. The Dark Council is planning on establishing their chambers here. You have direct ties to the headmaster. You are Omnus have a hand in the formation of the next generation of Sith."

"What are you suggesting?"

"We cooperate out of more than just some petty sense of bettering ourselves. We both stand in a position to influence how this Empire evolves. I control the past. You control the future. I deal with artifacts and ancient knowledge. You deal with the students who may yet become Sith."

"I don't know. My master gets enough grief because of me. He serves the Empire, and I know he'd do anything to see it prosper but… we cannot afford to make waves. If either one of us step on the wrong toes, it'll be the end of us both."

"I understand," Tash admitted. "The Empire's prejudices are rather deep seeded. It is a shame you don't receive the respect you deserve. If you ever want to join the war effort proper, I could ensure you receive that respect."

"Thank you for the offer, Tash. But my master needs me on Korriban for the time being," Syrosk explained. "Finding new students is aiding the war effort. We're in this for the long haul."

"I see. You know, I've always wondered, if there are more like you. Force-sensitive aliens. I imagine most of them are purposely overlooked. But as the Empire conquers more and more territory, it seems inevitable that the regions you could recruit from would expand accordingly. The Empire could use a few more like you, if you know what I mean."

"I can't say I disagree," Syrosk admitted. "But like I said before, we can't afford to take radical actions at this point…" The alien's speech seemed to drift off toward the end as he eyed the cold meal that remained in front of him. "You asked if Omnus ever had a vision he didn't act upon. He hasn't. But I have. I've seen visions, visions of Force-sensitives to be. Aliens. Slaves. Outcasts. I've told Omnus about them, but… he says we cannot afford to bring them into the Empire."

"Hey, things can change. Especially in times of war. No reason to give up yet."

"I suppose," Syrosk commented. "Alright, as for the present, I'll help you train your apprentice."

"Excellent! Apprentice, come meet your new tutor!" Tash warmly called out to the young one. The child rushed over from the living area to stand between the two Sith Lords. He offered a quick bow of the upper half of his body to the alien.

"What is your name boy?" Syrosk asked.

"Vai. Vai Thorel," the child answered.

"And what is that you desire?" Syrosk continued. The boy puzzled for a moment, looking to his own master for guidance. Tash offered an affirming nod of his head.

"I want to be strong!" Thorel exclaimed, filled to the brim with adolescent eagerness.

The alien let out a raspy chortle. "Well, I'm sure that can be arranged. Do you wish his training to start now?" Syrosk asked, turning to Tash.

"No, that's okay. I have a few things I'd like to take care of beforehand, I just wanted a confirmation before proceeding. You've been more than a valuable ally, Syrosk," Tash declared, extending his hand. Syrosk added his, and the two Sith Lords shook hands. With a wave of his hand, Tash instructed his apprentice to follow, and the pair was on their way. "We'll be in touch. Say goodbye, Vai."

"Goodbye!" the child waved as he stepped from the alien's home. Syrosk watched as they were on their way, the words of his fellow Sith Lord stirring in his mind.

* * *

Time passed, and it was business as usual. There was an attempted assault on the planet by a Republic fleet while a rogue Sith did battle within the Academy, but such things were expected to happen from time to time. Over the next couple of years, Tash would drop off his apprentice on Korriban whilst he did battle on the outskirts of Imperial space. Syrosk would train the boy in areas his true master found himself lacking in.

In time, Omnus' visions became few are far between. Syrosk kept to himself, lest an errant Force visions give him knowledge of a potential student he knew he could do nothing to recruit. As the Korriban Academy became more populated with suitable students, many Lords began to question the need for Omnus or his apprentice. With the war effort ignited, Imperial families were more than happy to send their children to be forged into the Sith of the future. There was less and less need for 'hidden' candidates.

The biggest shock came years later, when Darth Omnus was called forth to the frontlines.

* * *

_18 BTC_

Lord Tash once more found himself on Korriban alongside his teenage apprentice. The two walked a pleasant walk even under the harsh sun that beat down upon them from above. Entering the Academy, they saw an institution bustling with activity. However, as they traversed deeper into the facility, there was nothing but a stillness outside Syrosk's dwelling.

A knock on the door, and they received a greeting a few seconds later. Without a word, the alien Lord invited them in. As the pair casually entered, Syrosk's movements were unusually brisk. He had a hurried aura about him as he paced around the sanctum.

"Something wrong Syrosk?" Tash concernedly asked.

"It's Omnus. He's been asked to take part in an ongoing campaign. On the frontlines," Syrosk hastily explained.

"Darth Omnus? He is powerful to be sure, but no warrior. Why would they call him away from the Academy? I thought things were going well here."

"They are. Too well in fact. They don't need recruiters of his caliber anymore. They offered him the role of a strategist, but he turned it down. Said there's something he has to do," Syrosk explained.

"Did he have a vision or something?"

"I don't know, he wouldn't tell me. The whole situation's been chaotic."

"Why aren't you accompanying him. I know you're still a great fighter."

"His orders. He says we can't risk both of our lives. But I don't care, it's not like I could accomplish anything without someone like him supporting my actions."

Tash offered the firm shake of his head. "Don't say that. Look. If there's nothing we can do about his deployment, I can at least keep an eye on him. Accompany him. Protect him."

"You could do that?" Syrosk asked, a warmth in his eyes.

"Of course. It's the least I could do, what with you helping out my apprentice. You keep an eye on him, I'll keep one on Omnus," Tash suggested alongside the extension of his hand. Syrosk immediately accepted the handshake, and supplemented it with a firm hand placed upon his friend's shoulder. The two shared an silent agreement and a mutual nod of respect. "I'll keep in touch, give status updates. That sound good?"

"Yes, thank you Tash," Syrosk said, before casting a quick glance towards Thorel. "Do you think your apprentice is ready for the higher tiers of training?"

"Of course he is," Tash declared, patting his apprentice on the back. "Run him through the mental gauntlet. And who knows, it might help you take your mind off of things."

* * *

It had been a couple of days since Tash and Syrosk met. Darth Omnus had been sent to the threshold of Empire's territory, to help push Imperial forces into Republic space. The Sith had their eyes on the galactic east, and on their way to Bothuwai, they sought to take control of a small, unpopulated planet to use as a staging ground for future invasions. It was without a civilian populace, but the forested world did, however, possess a number Republic outposts.

On the planet's surface, the elderly Darth Omnus walked with a small accompaniment of Imperial troopers following him. The Sith was garbed in slightly more form-fitting black robes than usual, but he possessed nothing in the way of armor or personal reinforcement. As the squad of soldiers slowly advanced with their rifles raised, Omnus advanced with a polite walk, his hands neatly kept behind his back. Which each step, the group's boots sunk into the wet grass and mud that stretched around them in all directions. The planet was lush with green, doused with moisture, and beset by an ever blinding fog.

"Lieutenant," Omnus spoke up. "We are approaching the assigned coordinates, but I do not sense any outpost nearby. Contact base, see if you can't confirm our intelligence."

"Right away, my lord!" one of the troopers stated. Omnus paused his advance, as did the squad behind him. A moment later, the lieutenant spoke up. "Command is rechecking our coordinates. They say there's a chance the Republic fed us some false-"

The lieutenant was cut off by a crimson blaster bolt striking him dead in the chest. The other soldiers immediately began searching through the fog for the source, cycling the vision settings on their helmets. It would prove useless as more bolts emanated from the fog in all directions. Expertly place shots downed each of the soldiers, leaving only the Darth unscathed, who had yet to budge from his previous position. With utter calm, he watched as Republic troopers slowly emerged from the ethereal veil, the white-clad squad having him completely circled.

Omnus cautiously panned his gaze amongst the enemy soldiers who had their rifles trained on him but refused to fire. One figure, however, stood out from the rest. Clad in white plates like his comrades, but beset by a heavy brown cloak, head uncovered by any helmet. His visage was colored and alien, that of a Togruta. A Jedi.

"I must commend you, Jedi," Omnus stated. "You did an excellent job masking your group's presence. I'm quite humbled that you managed to sneak up on us."

"Quiet Sith. We have you surrounded," the Jedi declared in an authoritative tone. "I'm offering the chance to surrender."

"Then I suppose I'm honor bound to offer you the same."

"You're in no position to make such an offer."

"I've studied the intricacies of the Force for over fifty years. I'm more than capable of handling a single Jedi," Omnus stoically boasted.

The Jedi continued staring down the unwaveringly calm Sith. "Are you forgetting about the squad of soldiers, each ready to shoot you dead?"

The Darth let out a brief sigh. "I suppose you're right."

The Sith took a deep breath and closed his eyes. A moment later, he released a torrent of Force energy, kicking up a wall of mud all around him high into the air, completely blocking the trooper's line of sight. As the pillar of wet dirt stalled and fell back to the ground, the soldiers were stunned to see the Sith Lord was missing. Their target lost, the troopers could do nothing but ponder as a fine mist of water settled on their armor.

"A fine show, Sith, but-" the Jedi began to say, before being interrupted by the howling yelp of one of the troopers under his command. One by one the circle of soldiers began to panic, waving their weapons around in all directions.

"Oh no… oh no! AH!" one shouted before discharging his rifle, sending a blaster bolt flying into a nearby compatriot. The formation began to break, each soldier seemingly fighting some invisible foe. Meanwhile, the Jedi looked on with confusion, eyes dead set upon the elderly Sith who had not budged an inch from his original spot.

"What are you doing to them?" the Jedi shouted.

"The mind is a curious thing, you know," Omnus stated, utterly nonchalant. "It's a shame they don't receive the same training I assume you Jedi do. And don't bother trying to help them. They can't hear you, or me. And if you lay a hand on one, you're liable to get shot."

"Stop this. NOW!" the Jedi commanded, drawing and igniting his lightsaber. As the blue beam pointed at the Sith, he still refused to budge.

"The offer to surrender still stands," Omnus stated. "I can save the remaining few."

"I'll never surrender to you, Sith! You can't control my men if you're dead!" The Jedi declared as he charged toward the Darth.

"Predictable." As the Jedi ran forward, a blaster bolt surged toward him. The Jedi quickly raised the saber to deflect, sending it back to its shooter and killing him. More and more bolts were sent toward the Jedi, halting his charge as he focused on defense. "Of course. I mean, after all, they are just a few lesser beings getting in the way of our conflict. What do their lives matter if you have the chance to strike down one of your Order's mortal enemies. In all this time, still the Jedi haven't changed one bit."

As the Jedi deflected the blaster fire, one managed to strike him in the back of the leg, forcing him to take a knee. Then another one struck him in the shoulder of his saber arm. As he struggled to keep his weapon up, the Jedi used his last moments of life to cast one final despicable glare toward the Sith Lord. The two locked eyes, before the Jedi succumbed to the overwhelming blaster fire.

Looking around, what remained of the panicked squad was still deeply engaged in combat with the mental projections of a Sith Lord's physical onslaught. As he lessened his grip on the troopers' minds, they slowly began to recover. However, almost immediately they began to suffer from some unknown malady. One by one they dropped their weapons and began clutching at their throats.

Darth Omnus began to turn on his heels, searching for the source of the onslaught with the first signs of panic brewing in his visage. As more and more of the Republic forces drew their last breath and crumbled to the ground, Omnus finally laid eyes upon a new figure. Beyond the veil of fog a shadowed figure was approaching. It was not the outline of the figure that signaled his presence, but the shining of a crimson blade that bounced with each step taken.

Omnus reached out with his mind, trying to uncover the identity of the mysterious figure. All attempts proved fruitless. No matter how hard he tried, he could not penetrate the mind of the figure approaching him. But that proved to be as good a confirmation as any.

"Tash…"


	76. 0-25 Partners

**Chapter Twenty Five: Partners**

Emerging from the mists was Lord Tash, garbed in his suit of armor, saber ignited within his hand. Darth Omnus watched as the figure approached with a calm and collected gait, a smirk planted firmly upon his face.

"It's good to see you, Darth Omnus," Tash declared. "I promised Syrosk I'd keep an eye on you."

"I know… exactly why you are here," Omnus admitted.

"Is that so. Let me guess. A vision?" Tash asked in a mocking tone.

"Yes. I've come to terms with my fate. I know that today is the day I die. And I know that it will not be at the hands of the Republic."

The smile faded from Tash's face. His eye twitched and he let out a snarl as he rushed to be face to face with the Darth. Omnus didn't move an inch from his position, watching as the younger Human's nostrils flared as he locked eyes with his own.

"How dare you call yourself a Sith," Tash said through gritted teeth. "How could you just lay down and accept your fate?"

"I'll not lay down. I plan to continue standing when I meet my end. But there is nothing worth doing beyond that."

"Then you are weak," Tash declared. "There is always something worth doing! If you will not fight, no matter what, you are no Sith! Syrosk will be better off without you."

"Of that I am certain. After all, it is the natural progression of things for an apprentice to take his master's place. There is nothing left for me to teach him. He can survive on his own now."

"You Seers truly are blind. Without you, Syrosk is nothing to the Empire. Without a master, no Sith will tolerate him, no matter the skills he may possess."

"Except, of course, you," Omnus suggested. "I am not as blind as you might think. I know the only reason you have remained close to my apprentice is because you knew you had something to gain."

"Selfishness is in our nature," Tash declared. "I have much to gain by using Syrosk's talents, but I am not shackled by the petty ambitions of lesser Sith. I am going to change the Empire. And your apprentice is going to help me."

"I'm sure he will," Omnus commented. Tash continued to stare down the elderly Human. "What's the matter? Expected more? More declarations? More explanations? More protest? You despise mysteries, don't you? Ever since you were a student of Leshai. You were kept in the dark. Given absolutely nothing. And everything he did, you could never understand even to the day you killed him. And you hated him for it. He possessed unlimited knowledge while you wallowed in confusion. You couldn't understand how someone like him could end things the way he did. You can't understand how I stand before you right now, unafraid of my own death."

"Your kind don't deserve the knowledge you're given! If given the answers you or Leshai had access to, I would be on the Dark Council by now!"

"Knowledge is worthless. Wisdom, is what has value," Omnus explained. "And that is the last you'll hear from me. If you intend to end my life I suggest you-"

Without another word, Tash lifted his saber and plunged the blade through Darth Omnus' chest. The elderly Human maintained a stoic facade, even as the life left his body. The Sith Lord withdrew his blade, allowing the Darth to slump and sink into the wet ground. The area had become consumed by silence. Tash stood alone, surrounded by fog and the fallen bodies of Republic and Imperial forces. The Lord reached down and retrieved the lightsaber hanging from Omnus' belt, then did the same with the Jedi, picking up the weapon that stuck out of the mud a short distance away. With that, he departed, leaving the scene to its stillness.

* * *

Korriban. Omnus' sanctum. Within the living area, Lord Syrosk and Vai Thorel sat locked in mutual meditation. Meditation that was interrupted by a series of soft knocks on the door. Syrosk stirred from his trance and rose to his feet, signaling the young apprentice to stay put. Opening the door, Syrosk was greeted with the sight of Lord Tash, donned in his battle attire, baring none of his usual jovialness.

"Tash? What are you doing here?" Syrosk asked.

"Syrosk it's… it's about your master," Tash began, almost whispering. "Omnus… I'm sorry, he didn't make it."

Syrosk took a step back, breathless, as he clutched at his chest, gripping the amulet that rest beneath his robes. Tash rushed in, stabilizing his friend as his legs grew weak.

"Omnus… he's dead?" Syrosk muttered, increasingly exasperated. "How is this possible?"

"He was ambushed by a Jedi strike team," Tash explained. "The planet we were on was dense with natural cover, it only bolstered the Jedi's stealth tactics. They blocked communications, masked their presence. It was a miracle I was able to find them… but I was too late."

"You… you were there… you said you'd protect him," Syrosk rasped, gripping at the other Lord's shoulders.

"I know I did. And I tried. I really did," Tash somberly explained, He felt the alien's grip lessen, fury turning to solemn despair. The Human guided Syrosk to the dining table where he sat him down. Reaching behind his back, Tash retrieved two lightsabers from his belt and placed them on the table. Syrosk's eyes widened at the sight of the objects. One was utterly simple with a black case, absolutely no frivolous adornments. The other was an regally crafted silver hilt.

"His saber…"

"And the one that belonged to the Jedi that ended his life. I plucked it from his cold, dead hand after I killed him. His squad was weakened, almost reduced to nothing. Omnus put up a valiant fight, if only I could have reached him sooner. I'm sorry."

"No. It's okay Tash," Syrosk stated, not lifting his eyes from the items on the table, followed by a few beats of silence. "I think I've done all I can for your apprentice. He's a good student. Everything else is up to you and him. Now I'd… like to be alone. I've some things to take care of."

"If you need anything, please, do not hesitate to ask," Tash said, placing a gentle hand on the Lord's shoulder.

"Omnus took our ship when he left for war. I could use a new one."

"That can be arranged. Anything else?"

"No. Just some time for myself."

Tash offered a silent nod as he called to his apprentice. He raised himself from the floor, having knelt patiently throughout the entire proceedings. The master and apprentice exited the establishment, Tash looking back one final time to see Syrosk still staring at his master's lightsaber.

The door shut and the alien Lord was left alone with his thoughts. His fists clenched as an intense anger brewed within him. Snatching up his master's weapon, Syrosk leapt to his feet and ventured deeper into the sanctum. Within his personal dwelling, he opened the door to his closet where his suit of armor resided. Reaching in, Syrosk grasped his old helmet and began staring into its featureless visage. Two slots rest on either side of the helm for the alien's horns. When fully garbed for battle, the Sith Lord was nothing but a shadow. A horned devil. He saw the helmet as a tool for fear, one he could use against the Republic. And use it he did.

Syrosk received his new ship, and with it he ventured to the frontlines with his master's saber in hand. He was a warrior with no face. A force of nature. In the presence of his fellow Sith, he never removed his mask. Never spoke. Never revealed his identity. He simply longed for battle, and the chance to strike down the Knights of the Republic.

For two years he did battle against the Jedi, against the Republic. His armor was battered and beaten, burnt and slashed. And as time went on his body fared no better. But he refused to yield, driven by the purest of passions. But his righteous drive would prove his undoing. He could not rest. He could not falter. But over the course of constant warfare, he could not forestall defeat.

He charged alongside his fellow Sith in battle, lashing out at the forces of the Republic. But during one such battle, the force of a blow knocked the helmet from his head. In the aftermath, his Sith allies could only stare at the alien. The veil had been lifted. The shadow had been given form. And they found it unsuitable. Syrosk was cast out with none to speak on his defense. No troop would have him. No Sith would command him. He was utterly alone. Abandoned. The thoughts and feelings of his fellows seeped into his head. His rank had lost its meaning. He had reached his endpoint. He could not continue alone.

He reached out to the only person in the Sith Empire he knew he could count on.

* * *

_16 BTC_

Within the cockpit of their Fury-class Interceptor, Tash and his apprentice were eating a meal of rations.

"You know, I was thinking," Thorel spoke up, taking a bite of his brick of rations. "My attire could use a little updating."

The apprentice was approaching twenty years of age. His face was soft, possessing zero signs of scarring or fatigue. His garb was a simple set of dark gray, form-fitting robes, unadorned and without armoring.

"What, do you want a cape or something?" Tash asked, himself dressed in his casual black robes.

Thorel recoiled. "Ugh, no."

"Wait, what's wrong with a cape?"

"I was thinking a coat, or something. Not a cape."

"I'll have you know capes are a sign of dignity and superiority."

"Do you want a cape?" Thorel asked.

Cutting off the pair's conversation was the blip on the ship's control console signaling an incoming holo-call. The master and apprentice shared a knowing glance and a series of nods as they lifted themselves from their seats and make their way to the center of the ship. Activating the holoterminal, the grainy image of Lord Syrosk appeared. His body was encased in his battle attire, face exposed.

"Syrosk… we haven't heard from you in so long," Tash stated with worry. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm… no, actually," Syrosk rasped, his voice and posture exuding exhaustion. "I… I need your help."

"Of course, of course, whatever you need," Tash replied.

"I'm afraid… I could use another ship. They broke your first one," Syrosk explained.

"The Republic?"

"The Sith."

"I see. Don't worry, give us your coordinates and Thorel and I will pick you up ourselves," Tash explained. Syrosk's image faded and a series of coordinates were uploaded to the Fury's galaxy map. "The time has come, my apprentice. Now we must build, rather than destroy."

"I've been a Sith long enough to know the two aren't mutually exclusive," Thorel pleasantly offered.

"I see you are not without wisdom, my apprentice," Tash admitted.

"Syrosk was more than just mental defense tutor," Thorel explained.

"Yes, and now, without his master, hopefully his ideals and talents can be used to their fullest potential."

The pair made their way to Syrosk's coordinates, where the three of them would make plans to change the Empire forever.

* * *

Tash, Thorel, and Syrosk stood together as they waited for their ship to drop out of hyperspace over Korriban. The alien explained his actions over the last months, fighting for the sake of the Empire but being looked down upon, even lashed out at by his fellow Lords upon the revelation of his identity. As much as he despised the Jedi, his faith in the Sith Order was faltering. Tash offered a remedy.

For as much as Syrosk thought himself without allies, Tash knew of one besides himself. The headmaster of the Korriban Academy. Though the Empire no longer desired the services of Omnus and Syrosk, the headmaster was indebted to them for reestablishing the institution.

With Syrosk calling upon that debt and Tash pulling every string attached to his domain, they would set out to start a new classroom of Sith acolytes. Syrosk would meditate, searching for applicants ineligible for Academy acceptance. Thorel would follow Syrosk's visions and gather the Force-sensitive children. Tash would do everything necessary to keep the operation running smoothly.

Even with the headmaster's blessing, Tash knew they could not operate in the open. The Korriban Academy was an extensive facility, having received renovations since its reopening. But there rest untouched chambers. Halls dug low and deep into the surrounding mountains, even bordering some of the tombs the rest near the Academy. Halls not used since the institutions previous occupiers. Halls that would once again serve a purpose.

But if he wanted things to go according to plan, Tash needed to do more. He knew nothing escaped the attention of those higher up. He needed to assuage them. From the ground up, Tash ensured the acolytes wouldn't be admitted like normal students, nor treated like them. They could be guided along certain paths. If there was one thing a Sith Lord would appreciate more than an ancient artifact, it would be a loyal servant. And Tash knew how to make some.

Tash utilized those who continued to follow him since Leshai's demise. The their number had shrunk recent years, there were still some to call upon. From them, he would find suitable instructors, who could teach acolytes in an altered form of Sith instruction befitting the students' impure heritages. Each person who would gaze upon his crop would need to see a purpose in them. And Tash provided many. Indoctrinated servants. Tools of war, loyal to the Empire and only the Empire. The definitive next generation of Sith. But in the end, only Tash knew the true purpose of these students. Not his apprentice. Not Syrosk. Not the students themselves.

The foundations were in place. Tash had made his arrangements, his gambits. All that was left was to see them pan out, carefully managing expectations and perceptions along the way. Over the next few years, Syrosk would receive visions, and for once had he someone willing to act upon them. The two Sith Lords were partners, striving for a better future. For whom, however, depended on the Lord.

The time came when Tash's classrooms were filled. Students were divided and assigned to suitable instructors. However, the time had also come for the two Lords to part ways my no amicable means. It was only natural, as confrontation runs through the Sith like blood. After seeking out the last of the future acolytes, Syrosk had one final vision. One that would prove to clash with Tash's own.

Lord Tash severed all ties with the alien Lord. Once more Syrosk was alone, having lost everything. Everyone. A lone candle ready to be snuffed out by the first unpleasant Sith to cross his path. He had nothing but his master's saber and a set of armor. And once more he intended to put them to use. He had already lost so much. His master. His friend. His future. He didn't care if his time was over. He marched to battle, uncaring of what his fellow Sith thought. He vowed to never hide his visage again. He vowed to keep fighting until he expired. But after countless battles, he didn't.

He had faced soldiers, Jedi, Sith, but his body refused to die. And he knew why. His final vision. He had an obligation to see it through. And he had preparations to make. It would take many years, but Syrosk vowed to one day return to the Academy, to finally take an apprentice of his own.


	77. 3-01 Survivors

**Part III: Supremacies**

**Chapter One: Survivors**

The Academy was locked in its usual proceedings. As the bright and blistering sun watched over it with its enduring blaze, the next generation of Sith acolytes were in the throes of training. Humans of varying size and skill faced the trials readily provided by Korriban. The blades of its inhabitants, the claws of its predators, the shadows of its tombs.

But deep within the Academy, students of dissimilar make were progressing. Multiple classrooms, around ten students strong, studied and fought under the watchful eye of instructors satisfying the desires of their true master, Darth Tash. Things had changed for the peculiar bunch ever since the rousing appearance of the dark lord. The instructors had adopted a new lesson plan, one that progressed the atypical group faster than they thought possible.

And between these two groups was one accepted by neither. Lord Syrosk and his eight students. The acolytes were plucked from Tash's classroom at the behest of their new alien master and placed into pairings of warrior and inquisitor. After facing trials unlike anything they had endured in their previous years, the eight individuals quickly proved themselves worthy of apprenticeship.

For more than a year the eight Sith had followed the wisdom and teaching of their master. They learned of their position in the Academy, and the Empire at large, as beings too imperfect to have been admitted to the establishment by traditional means. They did not yet know what Darth Tash had intended for them, nor what he intended for those who remained under the guidance of his instructors. Neither did they fully understand their own master's intentions.

But whatever reservations they possessed for their peculiar master and their even more peculiar situation, they could not deny the results Syrosk's teachings had imparted upon them. Greater strength and dexterity. Greater intelligence and wisdom. Proficiency with both Lightsaber and the Force. A mental acuity taught by select few. Such was the reason that even after months of agony, pain, and hardship, all eight apprentices still convened atop the same mountaintop, under the same sun, and listened with the same determination when their master declared he has prepared another lesson.

The eight apprentices stood as they did the first time they gathered at their master's word, in a line, beside their respective partners. But for all that was the same, much had changed. Lord Syrosk now looked upon eight individuals, eight unique Sith. Each with a personalized weapon and outfit.

Lorrik stood at the leftmost spot in the lineup. The Human's appearance suggested a maturing in the recent months. Though his face was still relatively soft and offered its usual pleasant visage, and his flesh had managed to remain amongst the lightest of his compatriots even under the constant rays of the Korriban sun, there was a focused presence in his eyes detailing the many months of progress he had endured. Meanwhile the once unkempt, dark brown hair atop his head had been tamed, slicked back and styled by a man who still found importance in personal appearance amidst Sith training. All of which was readily visible, as the Human had removed any head coverings from his new outfit.

The black robes weren't dissimilar from the ones he had first received from his new master, but replacing the purple trim was a lining of a deep, dark blue. Sans hood, the outer coat merely possessed a thick collar that conveniently covered the brand on the back of the inquisitor's neck. The clothes covering his torso ended at the sash that wrapped around his waist, below which rest a pair of form-fitting pants and sturdy boots. Gone were the suffocating gloves from the Human's ensemble, offering his Force slinging hands freedom at the expense of protection. Most importantly, clipped to his sash was his lightsaber, completed a few short months ago. The weapon's exterior was simplistically stylish, made up of silver casings and the occasional flourish such as an added emitter guard.

His companion Jresh stood by his side, ever the tall, adamant warrior. His face still displayed the same crimson stoicism, with the same allotment of fleshy tendrils hanging from his chin and cheeks. His hair, though, had been sufficiently shortened. After one too many occurrences of being dragged to the ground by a dueling opponent, he decided to sever the long braid that once fell past his shoulders. Instead, the black hairs stop his head had been styled similar to those of his partner, at his suggestion, slicked back in a formal yet fashionable form.

The Pureblood had all but abandoned any vestiges of robes and cloth from his outfit. No hoods. No cloaks. Nothing but a suit of form-fitting armorweave accentuated with heavier materials upon his legs and torso. The black bodysuit protected him entirely below the neck, heavy boots and gauntlets guarding his extremities, as well as a compact pair of pauldrons atop his shoulders. His head meanwhile went unprotected, as the warrior had never held hiding his face in high regard, and wasn't about to change that. The lightsaber clipped to his belt matched his suit in appearance and function. The weapon possessed only an unadorned black cylinder as its hilt, utterly smooth and seemingly without buttons or dials.

The lineup continued, each apprentice having shed some part of their former selves to promote a sense of individuality. Arlia stood next. The violet Twi'lek had discarded the robe's gifted by her master for a set that seemed even further beyond her station in opulence. The black and purple garb wrapped her body with both graceful flow and martial structure. The tight under layer was accentuated by looser outer layers, yet nothing seemed capable of inhibiting the wearers movements.

Her companion Isorr had adopted a style similar to his master, an dark hooded cloak worn over a suit of armor. Though without the funds of a Sith Lord or Arlia's knack for acquiring goods, the outfit didn't hold the same grandeur as Syrosk's. But still, Isorr was Sith, and knew what was required of Sith, and the reinforced armorweave served him just fine. There were no new additions to the markings upon the face of the dark skinned Zabrak, but there was a fierce determination in his eyes, one distinguishable from the haughty superiority he held in previous months.

Vurt was next, and of all the apprentices, he was the only one who seemed to dress down from his old attire. His body was wrapped in a simplistic set of black robes. Form-fitting, with no excess layers. Almost a pitch-black variant of acolytes robes, with the added protected of sturdy boots and wrist guards. But in its simplicity it had managed to convey a message fitting its wearer, one with no tolerance for needless expressions. If there was one thing that would never change, it would be the cold, silent brutality that rest behind the eyes of the orange Nikto.

Nesk hadn't lost his ability to stand out from the crowd. The sandy-scaled Trandoshan and his companion were of one mind, as he too returned to the basics with his attire. Discarding the extraneous layers, the warrior protected his torso with a simplistic armorweave bodysuit. The thick material ended at his elbows and knees, leaving the lizard's clawed hands and feet unadorned. He had opted for simplicity, allowing his mere presence to speak for itself. One atypical addition was a necklace that draped around his neck, baring a number of teeth and talons taken from fallen prey from the wilds of Korriban since his apprenticeship.

Ryloh possessed probably the greatest departure from his fellow apprentices, but the most in line with his previous studies. Loose fitting black robes befitting an inquisitor. A hooded, long sleeve jacket wrapped around his upper body, while his lower half was covered by a more traditional robe skirt. The only color in the Twi'lek's appearance came from his light blue skin, exposed only above his neck. While the female Twi'lek's lekku were wrapped in black cloth, Ryloh's remain unadorned, draped in front of him and over his chest.

Kar'ai's outfit greatly differed from her companion's. Whereas the inquisitor had chosen flowing, conservative garb, she had opted for the opposite. Her lower half was protected by a form-fitting armorweave leggings and sturdy boots, whilst her torso was covered by little more than a skin tight wrapping around her neck and chest. Her arms and midriff uncovered, the warrior proudly displayed her toned physique and the numerous tribal markings that graced her pale flesh.

The eight students stood, eyes glued to the back of their master as the alien lord stood watch over the horizon, the only one amongst them who's appearance had not changed one bit in his time at the Academy.

"Students…" Syrosk began. "It's been quite some time since we've convened atop this mountain. You've all shown remarkable progress as Sith, You've displayed great strength and cunning, and a willingness to persist despite all obstacles. You've endured hardships not only physical, but emotional as well. You've been deceived, by others, as well as myself. You were delivered here by a man who never meant for you to be true Sith. And by removing you from his classrooms, I cannot say that I have granted you the status of a proper graduate of this Academy. But I have trained you in the fashion I believe you all deserving of. In a manner that cares not for your family, your lineage, or your species, but for your skills."

Syrosk turned to face his students directly. "And you have all proven yourselves skilled individuals. But no matter the individual, you will inevitably find yourselves impeded by limitations. As Sith, we believe ourselves capable of surpassing any such limitation through mastery of the Force. But even our connection to the Force can prove insufficient. The Empire draws its strength from remarkable individuals, but it is the individual whom holds it back. Isorr, would you care to recite the Sith code?"

"Peace is a lie, there is only passion," Isorr spoke up. "Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, power. Through power, victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall set me free."

"Very good," Syrosk rasped. "Simple enough guidelines. However, where there is simplicity, there is room for misinterpretation. We take passions to mean rage. Power to mean dominance. And victory to be achieved by any means necessary. Too many Sith believe that for one to ascend, others must fall. But instead of focusing that energy on the enemy, they turn on their brothers and sisters within the Order. I believe the selfishness that currently plagues the Sith will be its downfall."

"So that's why you placed the eight of us in pairs?" Kar'ai suggested.

"In part," Syrosk admitted. "As much as the Sith extol the virtues of the individual, they know that true strength cannot be gained without interaction. The bond between a master and his apprentice. A Sith Lord and his domain. The transfer of knowledge and skills from one person to another, from generation to generation. The new generation believes that anything beyond self-sufficiency is weakness. That couldn't be further from the truth. More than half my life was spent within the Empire before the Great War started. Things were different back then. The entirety of the Sith Empire cooperated in anticipation of achieving their one, singular goal. Proving their superiority over the Republic. We had constructed the greatest military force in the galaxy, and not through the chronic backstabbings and betrayals that infest the Empire today."

"So we're your attempt at returning to the good ol' days?" Arlia joked.

"If that were true, I wouldn't have chosen you lot," Syrosk corrected. "As much as I admire the state of operations back then, the Sith Empire possessed the same, if not more distaste of aberrant beings amongst its populace. My intentions are to merely consolidate the pasts, and futures, that I have seen, and use that knowledge to influence the next generation of Sith."

"I understand the benefits of the eight of us remaining in such close contact over these past months," Lorrik admitted. "Bouncing between cooperation and competition, it provides us with more than a single master could ever impart upon their apprentice. But you never did fully explain the reasoning behind the pairings."

"Perhaps," Syrosk rasped. "Then again, who's to say it has a meaning beyond the one you assign to it? I mean, I have provided you no reason, and yet here you all stand, side by side with your companion, each pairing displaying the effect you've had on one another whether you realize it or not. You've each formed a bond unlike any other on this planet."

"There is reasoning behind all things, whether we realize it or not," Lorrik recalled. "That is what you told us after we returned from the wastes of said planet. I don't believe you would cultivate something without a proper motivation."

"I suppose you are correct," Syrosk admitted. "In the inception of your previous classrooms, students were divided and parsed by certain elements. Species, background, gender, but the most important was your skillset. You all recall your first days after arriving at Korriban, being tested and assigned either the designation of warrior or inquisitor. I had the idea of pairing students years ago, but was cautious in carrying it out. I had seen firsthand the perils of certain types of Sith interacting with one another. Two warriors or two inquisitors with the same beliefs, same ambitions did not suit my plan. If you were to reach your fullest potential, I required you to face certain challenges."

"But you put the warriors in charge of picking an inquisitor," Jresh declared. "We could have chosen anyone, regardless of how they compared to ourselves."

"Yes, you could have. But you didn't," Syrosk bluntly stated. "You all chose someone who ended up being a natural foil, yet compatible with the most integral aspects of your being."

"By mere chance?" Ryloh asked.

"Surely by now you understand that there is no such thing as chance," Syrosk declared. "But the main reason for these pairings will be revealed after today's task. You've all constructed your lightsabers. You've all harnessed the power of the Force. In all capacities, you ought to be considered true Sith, regardless of whatever standing you may possess amongst the Empire at large. However, there yet remains a trial that you must complete. One that every acolyte or apprentice must endure at some point in their lives."

Lorrik scratched his chin as his gaze drifted toward the ground. "Really? It seems like we've done practically everything in one form or another."

"Is that so?" Syrosk teasingly rasped. "How familiar are you all with the surrounding tombs?"


	78. 3-02 Tombs

**Chapter Two: Tombs**

The students began to mumble and stir as they surreptitiously consorted with their companions, none willing to speak up. Their master meanwhile, let out one of his low chortles.

"It is understandable," Syrosk stated. "Tash likely instructed his instructors to keep his students in the dark about anything beyond the boundaries of your halls. Even the normal students risk raising the ire of certain Sith if they go into a tomb unsanctioned. And with the war going on, getting students ready for battle takes priority over picking them entirely clean."

"Are we planning to 'raise the ire of certain Sith' by going into these tombs?" Lorrik asked.

"Not quite," Syrosk declared. "There are far too many groups interested in the tombs around the Academy. Not to mention the fact that they've already been sifted through. No, instead, we will be turning our attention toward more bountiful grounds. Grounds long since forgotten."

"Sith rarely tend to 'forget' about anything that they could use to their benefit," Arlia suggested.

"I suppose you are correct. 'Abandoned' would likely serve as a better descriptor," Syrosk admitted. "Whenever a powerful Sith leaves something behind after their death, it is only a matter of time before someone seeks to claim it for themselves. However, here on Korriban, there rests an area relatively untouched for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. A Valley of Forgotten Lords."

Isorr balked. "Forgotten lords? They mustn't have accomplished much in their lifetimes then."

"Few have the privilege of having their names survive centuries after their death," Syrosk explained. "This galaxy is inhabited by forgetful peoples. And those who do remember, often see to it that no one else does."

"There are those who actively seek the destruction of history," Lorrik added. "But I never took the Sith to be amongst them."

"So how do you know about them then?" Kar'ai questioned her master.

"Knowledge of these tombs isn't that rare," Syrosk admitted. "Anyone connected to or influenced by the artifact trade knows where to find them. Usually such places would have been picked clean by now, but that is not the case."

"What's keeping people out?" Ryloh asked.

"The only thing capable of stopping a Sith… fear," Syrosk plainly stated. "When a Sith passes on, they'll often do everything in their power to prevent their assets from passing on undeservingly. Ancient droids, alchemical creations, old but potent defenses line the halls of any truly powerful lord to keep out anyone unworthy of their possessions. Only one of the tombs in this particular area was opened, and the surveyors were immediately wiped out. The Sith Lord who ordered the excavation sent more and more of his underlings to their doom, until he himself delved into the tomb. Upon clearing each and every chamber of its defenses, he had discovered that his efforts had been for naught. What he gained in a small allotment of mediocre artifacts could not have made up for the utter decimation of his dominion. None were willing to risk what he did delving the other tombs. And so they remained untouched. Until today."

"So, just so I understand correctly. We'll be trying to succeed where the combined might of a Sith Lord and his entire power base failed?" Lorrik hesitantly asked.

"All for what might end up being a worthless endeavor?" Arlia added.

"This shall be anything but worthless, should you succeed," Syrosk replied. "Any artifacts or treasures you come across in these tombs will simply be an added bonus. The true benefit lies in the journey."

"Ah, you're not going soft on us now are you, master?" Kar'ai joked.

"There is a good chance you will die in these tombs if you are not cautious," Syrosk admitted. "This isn't a time for mind games, or wordy speeches about what you are supposed to learn…"

"That time comes when we all come back safely, doesn't it?" Lorrik added, his previous worriedness tempered with a jocularity.

Syrosk kept his cold stare affixed to the Human. "If you do all return, then I can take solace in the fact that you've heeded my lessons until this point. But if not… as I said before, I have plans in place should any of you perish."

"And it's gets more refreshing each time you repeat it," Lorrik muttered.

"This is a trial, right?" Isorr asked. "That means we'll be inevitably judged on something. So what is it going to be this time?"

"We'll take a shuttle to the valley in a short while," Syrosk explained. "Each pair will enter a separate tomb, and be judged on what they bring back. You're free to stay in the tomb as long as you wish, but the shuttle will return to the Academy six hours after we begin. Unless you intend to make another trek across the wastes, this time with no rations, I suggest you make it back in time. Any questions?"

The students had none.

"Alright then. To the shuttle"

* * *

The Sith Lord led his apprentices to a docked shuttle, the same one that once dropped them off in the wastes of Korriban. Although the silence of the previous trip had been replicated, the mood within the passenger bay had not. Each student kept to themselves, interrupting the quiet only for a brief aside with their partner now and again. Months ago, when they were eight acolytes preparing themselves for the dangerous trek that awaited them, there was a trepidation in their hearts.

But not this day. Within the shuttle's seats, each student had a determined glint in their eyes. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had. They were not the eight students they were when they left for the wastes. And yet they once more found themselves being thrust into a life or death situation at the behest of their master. Each student knew of the dangers they might face that day. The lack of fear surging through their hearts was not made possible through ignorance, but the cultivation of strength, both physical and mental.

The shuttle flew for what felt like hours. For as much as they had advanced, spending time isolated in the drowning noise of the vessel's passenger bay still proved uncomfortable for some of the students. The deprivation of their senses continued to burden the travelers. But even the most hotheaded of them managed to stay cool. Syrosk watched over his students from the rear of the vessel with his usual stern visage. Lorrik thought to speak at many moments, but held his tongue. He had chosen to mimic his partner, finding solace in meditation.

When the vessel finally arrived at its destination, the students exited the shuttle into a world between the light and darkness. The valley their master had described seemed more a fissure stretching deep below the surrounding terrain. As they stood looking up into the Korriban sky, they found their peripherals cut off by the jagged edges of suffocating ridges, much of the valley basked in shadows. The tombs Syrosk spoke of were carved into and out of the walls of these parted cliff faces. A series of structures lined the ridge walls to their left and right. One had shown signs of disturbance, the others remained remarkably clean, touched only by the abrasive winds that blew through the fissure.

"Students," Syrosk spoke up. "The Valley of Forgotten Lords."

Arlia passed her gaze around the enclosed area. "Now I can see why they were forgotten. Even the most ambitious of tomb robbers wouldn't think to look all the way out here."

"I don't understand," Isorr stated, scratching his chin. "When a Sith constructs a tomb, it isn't meant to be something tucked away and hidden. It is to be a monument to their power. A grand display of their wealth and influence to their lessers, almost teasing them with what might lay behind their walls. Sith don't waste resources just to fade into obscurity."

"Maybe their status today was unintended," Lorrik suggested. "A thousand years is a long time, maybe this area held more significance when these tombs were constructed."

"Or maybe these aren't our usual Sith," Jresh offered, sternly panning his gaze between the tombs. The large entrances to each tomb offered little indication to the size and grandeur of what rest behind them. Formed entirely from stone, the structures were undoubtedly ancient.

"If these date back to the golden age, they might be more Sith than any of us could ever hope to be," Lorrik admitted.

Syrosk reigned in his apprentices. "Students. As you can see, here lay six tombs, only one of which has been previously exhumed. That gives you free reign to choose whichever one you like. As stated before, each pair will have a tomb to themselves. Crack it open, search its halls, and bring back something valuable. Your six hours start now."

The Sith Lord abruptly ceased speaking amidst his unremarkable stance near the shuttle. The students puzzled for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, but realized time was of the essence. No one had heard of a tomb being cleared in a single day, let alone six hours. The eight apprentices split up, each pair darting off in separate directions. Each made their way to one of the towering gateways of stone and terrain that guarded the burial halls of long dead Sith.

Isorr and Arlia made their way to the tomb nearest the shuttle. Kar'ai led Ryloh to the one built into the opposite stone wall. Nesk and Vurt meanwhile made their way further into the valley with utmost haste. That left Lorrik and Jresh to advance with a tempered pace. They had their eyes set on an unassuming structure a short walk away. Unassuming by comparison at least. The tomb entrances were something any archeologist would love to behold, but set up adjacent to one another, there were few distinguishable details available to the students.

They knew little of the structures' true ages or purposes. Their knowledge of ancient Sith left them with little belief that someone of importance oversaw the construction of one or more of these tombs. They didn't even know if they were six separate burial sites, or the strange execution of one strange Sith's strange ambitions.

The Human and Pureblood came to a stop in front of a large stone slab surrounded by pillars and eroded stone supports. The sand colored gateway was grandiose in stature, if not design, stretching high and wide, its door a greater size than any humanoid. If it could even be called a door. All the stood before the pair was a single, uniform slab of stone inlayed beyond the structural archway, no evidence of a partition or recess.

"So… how do we go about cracking open this tomb?" Lorrik asked his companion. The Sith silently made his forward until he stood directly in front of the solid barrier. Placing his hand upon the stone slab, he lightly felt the surface with the palm of his gloved hand.

"We make a crack," Jresh stoically offered. Removing his hand, he drew it in close to his chest, taking in a deep breath as he concentrated and closed his eyes. Lorrik tilted his head before taking a cautious step back. With a powerful exertion of the Force, Jresh struck the center of the barrier with his open palm. As his hand impacted against the stone, a shockwave radiated in the opposite direction, blowing away the nearby dust and sand and almost knocking Lorrik off his feet.

Steadying himself, the Human watched as a fracture began to form beneath his companion's hand. The crack traveled upward until it bisected the slab from top to bottom.

"Did… did that do it?" Lorrik asked, somewhat marveling at his partner's work. Jresh looked up and down the surface, scratching his chin as he studied the newly formed crack.

"No. The slab's still firmly in place," Jresh admitted. "However, I believe its integrity has been compromised. Lorrik, come over here." The inquisitor complied, standing by his companion as the two of them looked upon the stone barrier. "Looks like we're going to have to push our way in."

"Works for me," Lorrik nonchalantly added. The two of them began to move in sync, concentrating their minds and their bodies. Together they focused, pulling their hands in close to their chests. The Human and Pureblood shared a look and a mutual nod, before each taking a deep breath. A moment later, they exhaled and coupled it with the outthrust of their hands. The combined might of their synchronized Force pushes fully cracked the slab into two pieces which were sent flying into the tomb's darkened interior.

Lorrik and Jresh turned and gripped one another's hand in mutual respect and cordiality. The pair turned their gazes toward the shadowed hall and slowly made their way into the tomb. The structure's interior possessed little in the way of visible flourishes. Only hard and uniform walls of stone on all sides. The warrior and inquisitor passed the threshold of the archway, and with each step the intruding light faded to darkness. Lorrik unhooked the saber from his belt and igniting its blue blade. The light emanated from the saber and illuminated the pair's path. Side by side, they advanced into the darkness, no torches or fixtures aiding their venture deeper into the tomb.

"It's weird… I expected giant statues, or murals, or something like that to greet us," Lorrik admitted. "Isorr had a point, usually the only Sith to construct tombs are the ones trying to make a statement. This one doesn't seem to be saying anything at all."

"Sometimes silence is the most impactful of statements," Jresh stated.

"Ever the warrior-poet, aren't you?" Lorrik teased. "I just hope we manage to find something within these halls." The path they traveled ended at a fork, splitting into two different halls. "Be sure to make a mental map of this place, I'd hate to be late getting back."

The two made their way deeper into the tomb, traversing winding and branching halls, never coming across anything resembling a larger chamber. Looking back and forth, there was nothing but darkness to the front and rear of the pair. Just as caution was beginning to change to boredom, something caused the apprentices to freeze in their tracks. Originating from somewhere deeper within the tomb, a sound echoed through the halls. A harrowing sound. A dreadful howl.

"Uh… Jresh…" Lorrik muttered.

"Stay alert. We are not alone," Jresh declared, retrieving and igniting his lightsaber.

The red and blue glow of their weapons revealed nothing in the immediate area. Slowly they continued their advance, cautious step after cautious step. As Jresh took the forward position, Lorrik took up the rear. While the warrior pressed forward, an unfamiliar fear began to fester within the inquisitor. Unfamiliar, and yet something within him recognized it.

After making their way through countless halls for half an hour, the pair finally came across an open area. The passageway widened until it opened into a full-fledged chamber. Large stone pillars supported the tall roof, upon which sat crystal fixtures that glowed brighter and brighter as the two Sith drew closer. The budding light illuminated more and more of the room, but it wasn't needed to see what rested in its center. Etched onto the ground in the middle of the chamber was a circle accompanied by a series of markings and runes, a brilliant red glow emanating from them. But as intriguing as the designs were, what immediately captured the attention of the two intruders was what currently stood within the markings.

A large humanoid basked in the light of the runed designs, and yet was cloaked in shadows. Its arms were crossed in front of its chest, and its head hung low as if in some form of stasis. The Human and Pureblood halted their progress, gazing upon the figure from afar.

"Jresh…" Lorrik barely managed to utter, his voice overflowing with hesitance. As soon as the word echoed throughout the chamber, it was followed by a resounding crash. The red lights beneath the mysterious figure began to fade, and its shadowed form began to be revealed. As the darkness faded, so did its stillness. It uncrossed its arms and raised its head, arching and stretching itself in the process.

The figure was like nothing the pair had laid eyes on before, and yet Lorrik knew he had seen it. A monstrous figure, standing tall yet hunched, a mix of man and beast. Its form was jagged, spurred, and crimson. The bulky figure stood taller than either of the intruders, yet bore an uncanny resemblance to one of them, albeit in some debased form. The crimson humanoid was lightly garbed, only tattered cloths concealing its lower body. From its unconcealed flesh sprouted boney spurs and spikes upon its arms and back. Its eyes glowed with a golden ferocity as they settled upon the two intruders.

"That's the thing from my dream. The thing that killed me."


	79. 3-03 Monsters

**Chapter Three: Monsters**

Lorrik's eyes widened as his entire body began to shiver. Jresh meanwhile looked upon the awakening foe with his usual stoicism.

"Massassi…" Jresh muttered.

"Huh?" Lorrik replied, momentarily snapping out of his worried trance.

"An old sub-species of Sith. Warrior caste."

"You mean you and this thing have the same blood?" Lorrik asked in a hushed tone, trying to convince himself he could delay attracting any more attention. The Pureblood remained silent as he continued to eye the creature.

It was ancient, of a breed lost to time. The spikes and fins that sprouted from its joints and back were exaggerated and deformed compared to any found on present day Sith. It's hands had only four digits, in the form of elongated, sharpened claws. More disturbing was their condition. Deviating from the crimson of the rest of its crimson hide, its hands were pitch black, as if they were dipped to their forearms in ink.

"The Massassi were warriors. Stalwart. Strong. But nothing like this," Jresh declared. "Sith Alchemy was responsible for our ability to breed with the Dark Jedi. I'd say it's also responsible for the corrupted being that stands before us."

"Why is it just standing there? If it's the tomb's defender, shouldn't it be attacking us?" Lorrik asked. The glowing eyes of the awakened creature had connected with the Pureblood's, and there they continued to fall.

"It's likely as intrigued by me as we are of it," Jresh stated. "Lorrik, there's an opening at the opposite end of the chamber. You go ahead, I'll handle this."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," Lorrik replied. "I'm not leaving you alone with this thing. I know how dangerous it can be."

"As do I, which is why I'm asking you to let me handle this," Jresh stated. "You sense we're at the end of the tomb, correct? That this is our only obstacle? Find whatever this thing is guarding. Get us something to bring back to Syrosk."

"And let you fight this thing alone? No way. You remember what Syrosk said. This trial is supposed to be about cooperation. Working together."

"This is cooperating. I handle the beast, you secure our item for Syrosk," Jresh explained.

"You don't understand! You don't know what it's like to see your own death!"

"Lorrik, it's okay. You once told we that we are not defined by our pasts. I would say that we are not defined by our futures either. Whatever dream, whatever vision you may have had, it cannot be allowed to define us. Control us. This trial isn't just about working together. It's about believing in one another. Fear is what kept these tombs closed. Fear is what holds us back. It okay to be afraid, so long as it does not control you. I believe in you. Do you believe in me?"

"Yes."

"Then I am more than capable of handling this," Jresh declared as he took a step toward the waiting creature.

"This thing is the tomb's defense system, you really think it'll just let me walk away?"

"I don't plan on giving it a choice," Jresh bluntly said as he readied his saber, the glow of the crimson blade lighting up his determined visage.

The inquisitor fell silent, steeling himself as he powered down his own weapon. Within the half-darkness, Lorrik offered one final nod to his companion before stepping away, carefully maneuvering around the chamber's outer limits. The creature's neck began to swivel as it followed the Human's path. Just as it thought to intercept, the guardian was interrupted by a sharp whistle emanating from the other intruder. Jresh remained adamant in his stance, eyes burning a hole through the Massassi.

"This is between you and me."

The Pureblood couldn't tell if the beast could comprehend his language, but as its glowing eyes began to sharpen, he believed there to be a firm understanding. Two warriors. Two Sith. Two impurities.

Beyond the monstrous defender, Jresh could see the outline of his companion on the far side of the chamber as he ventured deeper into the tomb. With a twirl of his wrist, the Pureblood reaffirmed his grip on his weapon, the black hilt resting firmly within the palm of his gauntleted hand. As the warrior readied himself, he was surprised to see the guardian continuing to stand in the center of the chamber, no apparent change in thought or demeanor. Only the enduring burden of his glowing gaze.

But still it did not act. Standing taller than even the mighty Pureblood whilst still in its hunched stance. Jresh knew that every second he bought his partner was worth it, but was hesitant to simply stand there staring down his opponent. For all its abnormalities, Jresh knew not what went through the head of his opponent. It could have been nothing. It could have been everything he hoped to prevent. Though he awaited the defender to make the first strike, the Pureblood was forced to act as the monstrosity began to turn away and lumber toward his departing companion.

"No you don't," Jresh muttered as he charged toward his opponent.

Raising his weapon high, the Pureblood sought to bring the saber down upon the abomination with a powerful overhead slash. But the monster moved with a ferocious speed unbefitting its large form. The Massassi spun upon its sharpened heel to face the crimson intruder just before his attack could land. Rather than dodge, the guardian used its immense speed instead to raise a single blackened hand.

Jresh's eyes widened with alarm as he found his saber's path inhibited. In the midst of its downward swing, it had been halted by the monster's corrupted paw. As it clenched its grip, its sharpened talons encircled the crimson beam, seemingly ignoring the immense heat of the blade's plasma. As it held the ignited blade within its black claws, the beast's eyes met with the Pureblood's once more. Their orange glow had intensified, any aspect of fear utterly absent from the guardian's visage. Face to face, the Massassi stood a full head taller than the armored Pureblood. The monster's countenance began to contort into a billowing snarl, baring the sharpened teeth that rest within its maw.

The beast's grip began to tighten around the blade, until its claws managed to pierce the beam's containment field. The loop of energy broke, and the crimson blade rescinded into its hilt. Jresh took an immediate leap back, putting some distance between himself and the abomination. As he held the hilt within his hand, he struggled to reactivate it, some portion of its inner workings disrupted. The Pureblood looked up to see his foe patiently staring at him. Waiting. Seeped in arrogance, yet totally stoic.

"If that's how you want it," Jresh calmly stated as he returned the hilt to his belt. With a deep breath, the Pureblood steadied himself and raised his fists. Finally did the Massassi begin to unfurl. Cracking its neck, beast widened its stance and placed its arms as its sides, hands spread open and bearing their clawed digits.

* * *

Further into the tomb, Lorrik carefully crept forward through the singular hall that led him away from the previous chamber. Looking back, only the faintest hint of a glow emanated from the room in which his companion faced off against the lone guardian of the tomb. He had yet to pick up any sounds of battle or commotion, but that did little to put his mind at ease. The inquisitor knew he had to continue, find something to make the entire ordeal worth the effort.

Eyes returning to the path ahead, the troubling thoughts swirling through the Human's head suddenly settled as he noticed a new light source in the distance. Faint, but pulsing, drawing the inquisitor closer with an alluring warmth. His eyes widened as the concern slowly drained from his mind. With each step, his feet felt lighter, as if he were floating toward the next chamber. Any sense of trepidation or hesitance was gone from the inquisitor's mind. And it infuriated him.

Lorrik knew when someone, something, was playing with his mind. Jresh was correct in suggesting the Massassi was the only defender of the tomb, but that didn't mean it was its sole inhabitant. The inquisitor pressed forward, complying with the call yet retaining control of his own direction. At least, that's what he told himself.

* * *

The Massassi lunged toward the Pureblood, lashing out with the long, broad swipes of its claws. Jresh began on the defensive, ducking and weaving as he stepped back from the advancing beast. Continuing his retreat, the warrior found his path obstructed as his back struck into one of the sizable pillars that graced the chamber. His eyes widened as he watched the abomination thrust its right claws toward his face. Jresh lowered himself just in time to miss the creature's sharpened digits digging themselves into his skull, as they instead bore themselves into the stone pillar. Seeing the Massassi's hand stuck inches into the column, the Pureblood went on the offensive.

Jresh delivered several quick jabs to the creature's abdomen, before being swatted away by the monster. The Pureblood recoiled from the back of the Massassi's free hand striking his face, spinning and recovering a few steps away. As the guardian struggled to remove his imbedded claw, Jresh brandished his saber and attempted to ignite it. The red plasma briefly flashed before promptly shutting off, refusing to properly activate. The warrior let out a disgruntled growl as he saw his opponent free itself from the stone column.

The Massassi closed fast, raising its right hand before hammering it down upon the Pureblood. Jresh intercepted the strike, halting the beast's attack as he clutched its forearm with his gauntlets. The towering guardian continued to press down upon the intruder, his arms growing tired, his stance weakening. As the Pureblood focused his attention on the arm within his grasp, he couldn't defend against the other being driven into his side. The blackened fist crashed into his ribs, the force of the blow passing through the armorweave covering. The warrior's knees buckled and he slumped to the ground, his lightsaber slipping from his grasp and clattering as it skidded across the cold floor.

* * *

Lorrik was at the threshold of the next chamber. The image before him became clearer and clearer. In the next room, there rest a single stone pedestal , upon which sat a single glowing artifact. A Sith holocron. The small pyramid pulsed with a glowing red light, enticing the inquisitor to investigate. Stepping into the compact chamber, Lorrik saw no further passages. He had reached the furthest depths of the tomb. Slowly, he approached the artifact, keeping his wits about him as he shuffled through the dimly lit chamber.

With a few steps, the Human now stood in front of the item, studying it. The artifact's glow seemed to intensify in his presence. The holocron was ornately designed, smooth black material decorated with red flourishes, with an intricate latticework of interior workings. All of which small enough to comfortable hold within his hand. Lorrik reached out, licking his lips as his fingers hovered just in front of the artifact. With a deep breath, he made contact. Before he could even exhale he found himself being tossed backward as an invisible force radiated from the holocron. The inquisitor landed hard on his back at the threshold of the chamber.

Letting out a soft groan, Lorrik raised himself, only to find something new between himself and the holocron. Something of humanoid size and form, ethereal, through which he could still see the hazy image of the glowing artifact. As he studied the figure, he realized it was the opposite of what he had encountered in the room before. Thin. Regal. No sign of Sith heredity. A Human, clad in black robes, staring at the downed inquisitor.

"I am the gatekeeper for this holocron," the image stated with a dull, monotonous tone. "What is it that you seek?"

Lorrik kept his eyes on the ethereal figure as he raised himself from the ground. Standing, dusting himself off, he eyed the image up and down with a perturbed look in his eyes.

"You're no construct…" Lorrik muttered. "You think I wouldn't recognize a Force ghost?"

The spirit's stoicism washed away, his mouth curling into a sinister smile. "It would seem I have misjudged you. I felt you and your other's presence the moment you breached my tomb. You didn't make a great first impression. I simply assumed your knowledge to be comparable to your strength."

"Like I haven't been talked down to by older Sith," Lorrik admitted. "You just happen to have a few hundred years on the usual ones."

The spirit balked. "A few hundred years? Boy, you have no comprehension of who you stand before, do you?"

"No. So why don't you tell me?"

* * *

The Massassi hadn't ceased its pursuit of the Pureblood. It was the first time in his life that he was so physically outmatched by a single opponent. He stayed on the defensive, trying his hardest to avoid the unrelenting swipes of the beast. Every so often, the blackened claws would rake across the warrior's armor, leaving scratches even on the most reinforced plating. The pair darted back and forth across the room, the guardian lashing out and the Pureblood defending, trying to get in a strike of his own every now and again. But the monster just seemed to shrug each blow off. Even as Jresh drove his gauntleted hands into the flesh of the beast, the Force compounding each strike, his opponent showed no signs of fatigue or damage.

For all his strength, it proved useless against the abomination. The idea was infuriating to the warrior. All his time training turned into nothing against a single foe. In the brief glimpsing into the creature's eyes, he saw only the intent to kill. Something he had not seen since his childhood. And like then, he was afraid. But it wasn't the fear of losing his own life. He knew that if he died, Lorrik would be next. And so long as he possessed some semblance of power, he would use it to protect that which he cared about.

Jresh halted his retreat, spinning on his heels to let out a powerful Force push, releasing a primal roar as he did so. The shockwave surged toward the creature, halting its advance and pushing it back. It managed to remain upright, digging its feet into the stone as its slid backward. As the Massassi steadied itself, it looked up to see its opponent standing still, staring it directly in the eyes.

The warrior was done retreating. As he stared down his opponent, he could hear his mother's words within his head.

"Strength is not raw power. It is control. Fueled by passions but never defined by them. You must control yourself. Then you might control your surroundings. Be at peace with your emotions, and you can draw from them at your own accord. Then you can find your strength."

With a deep breath, Jresh readied himself. "Round two."


	80. 3-04 Beliefs

**Chapter Four: Beliefs**

Jresh charged toward his enemy, not with some unruly rage, but with focus. With a stoic visage, he closed in on his monstrous foe before leaping and delivering a powerful fist to the creature's face. The blow forced the Massassi to take a knee, where it released a primal roar, shaking the chamber.

The beast lunged forward, attempting to tackle the Pureblood. Jresh fell backward of his own accord, anticipating his opponent's movements. As the abomination surged forward, the warrior slipped beneath it in one smooth motion. Jresh brought his legs in tight, before extending them into a powerful kick to the beast's midsection. Channeling the Force, the Pureblood was able to send the Massassi flying backward.

* * *

Lorrik looked back down the path he had traveled as the roaring echoes from the previous chamber reached him. The Human's eyes began to subtly dart back and forth as he saw only the faintest light at the other end of the passageway.

"He can't win, you know," the spirit taunted. His voice chilled Lorrik to his core, each smooth syllable bypassing the senses completely to connect directly to his mind. The inquisitor returned his gaze to the ethereal Human, who took to standing politely with his hands tucked behind his back.

"I believe in him," Lorrik softly stated.

"Is that so? And why would that be?"

"Because he needs me to believe in him. Because I need me to believe in him."

The spirit let out a snide chuckle. "Of course, that's what's been holding back the Jedi and Sith, none of them ever believed in anything. One day you'll find your beliefs will only hold you back, boy."

Lorrik paused, staring as the figure's ghostly visage. "You're probably right. But until that day, I'll do whatever I damned well please."

"Oh ho, the boy does have the making of a Sith, doesn't he?" the spirit teased, rubbing his ghostly chin. "Let me guess, you've come to pilfer this tomb, find some lost artifact belonging to some ancient entity so that you can finally kill your master, or your rival, or whoever it is you feel yourself deserving of dominance over?"

"We came at our master's behest. To find something worth bringing back. And I've already found something," Lorrik explained.

"Really? Do enlighten me."

"Knowledge."

"Rather presumptive of you to believe I'd simply let you have my holocron."

"I'm not talking about any physical tome," Lorrik declared. The spirit arched his brow as his attention focused upon the intruder. "Before I came to Korriban, I was afraid. Afraid of what might happen to myself and my family before I ever knew I was Force-sensitive. After beginning my training, I was still afraid. Afraid of where I was heading and what I was leaving behind. After I became an apprentice, I was afraid. Afraid of what might happen if I wasn't strong enough. But I'm not afraid anymore. Because of the man fighting back there. He lends me his strength, and I lend him mine. And together, we can accomplish anything."

The spirit cast a harsh look into the inquisitor eyes, holding it for what felt like an eternity, before letting out a loud, drawn out yawn. "That'd surely be interesting… if it were true. You hide your thoughts well, boy, but your emotions are easy enough to read. If you are not afraid, why do you keep looking back? If you are not afraid why must you continuously remind yourself that you are not? There is belief… and there is delusion."

"And what is it that you believe in?" Lorrik asked.

"Myself. Me and me alone. That is what sustained me for hundreds of years. That is what allows my spirit to persist beyond my body's demise. The willingness and belief to do whatever is necessary to achieve ascension."

"And yet here you are. Dead. Trapped in a tomb. A selfish Sith buried by his fellows. How's that for ascension?"

"I have not yet faded from this realm. The death of the body is a mere setback for the truly powerful."

"Powerful? You've a single tomb holding a single holocron protected by a single guardian. I don't know what the Order was like in your day but-"

Lorrik found himself unable to complete his sentence as an invisible force overtook him. His limbs stiffened and he began to lose control of most of his body. Frozen, the inquisitor watched as the ethereal specter darkened and adopted a harsh, blood-red hue, tenebrous shadows pooling beneath his feet. Slowly, Lorrik was lifted off his feet as it became harder to draw each new breath.

* * *

The warrior and beast combatted, Jresh taking calculated moves using the creature's momentum against it. With each furious slash of its claws, the Pureblood would maneuver around the Massassi, attacking its flank before backing off and preparing for the next exchange.

Jresh's attention faltered as he felt a creeping darkness emerge from the final chamber. A knot began to form in his gut as he felt his companion in pain. The distraction left the Pureblood open to attack as the abomination brought down a diagonal swipe of its claws upon the warrior. The sharpened and hardened talons raked across Jresh's face, cutting deep into his flesh and leaving three bleeding wounds across the right side of his head. Three bleeding lines marred his visage from eye to jaw.

* * *

"You two share a connection, don't you?" the sprit taunted as it effortlessly gazed upon the struggling Human. "You know he is in pain. You know he is losing. You know your belief in him amounts to nothing."

* * *

Letting out a pained grumble, the Pureblood found himself next thrown onto his back against the cold stone flooring by the attacking beast. As he lay upon the ground, the Massassi secured a single-handed grip upon the warrior's neck and chest. The abomination began lifting and slamming the back of the Pureblood's head against the stone, again and again. With each subsequent slam, Jresh felt himself getting weaker and weaker. As he was struck against the stone once more, he began to feel a dampness pooling within the hairs upon the back of his head.

* * *

"That man… is the strongest person I know," Lorrik declared through struggled breaths. "If my belief amounts to nothing... that just means I'll have more to give."

* * *

In the brief moment between slams, Jresh was able to turn his head. A short distance away, he saw a dark object resting amongst shadows. His lightsaber. With his last bit of energy, he threw out his open hand and focused his mind. The black hilt began to stir upon the stone floor before heeding its master's call. The Pureblood tugged upon the weapon with the Force until it had made its way into his hands.

Jresh extended the crimson blade and swept the lightsaber between himself and the monster, severing the arm holding him by the neck just above its elbow. The Massassi stumbled backward, clutching at its right stump with its left claw. Jresh meanwhile removed the hand that had chosen to remain firmly around his neck.

* * *

Lorrik dropped to the floor as he was released from the spirit's lifting hold. The ghost's previously unwavering stance faltered as he stumbled back, the pooling shadows receding. He appeared weakened, stunned. The inquisitor let out a few wheezing coughs as he attempted to recover. The two figures seemed exhausted, neither able to stand tall.

"It would seem… that you're not as disconnected you might like to believe," Lorrik declared.

* * *

Jresh rose from the ground, lightsaber in hand, whatever effect the beast had on it having run its course. The Massassi howled as it gripped the charred stump, releasing sounds of frustration rather than outright pain. The Pureblood felt dizzy, but soon regained control of his body. The aches faded as he cast his sharpened gaze upon the creature. Charging forward, Jresh readied his weapon to deliver another sweeping strike.

The beast released its grip on its severed bicep to bat the blade away with his remaining left hand. The saber sparked and crackled with the momentary contact with the back of the monster's blackened hand, but remained ignited. The Pureblood continued his assault, lashing out with focused swings and calculated thrusts. The Massassi was for once on the defensive, gliding along the stone flooring and deflected whatever blow it could not dodge.

Jresh altered his stance, moving away from powerful two handed strikes to quick jabs and slashes hoping to make it past the abomination's defenses. Slowly, the warrior was able to chip away at the Massassi's guard. As the guardian would parry his blows with its blackened claws, Jresh would follow through rather than resist the retaliatory motions. The creature batted the saber away, only for Jresh to spin and return with a wide sweep, raking the crimson blade across the beast's chest.

The rest of the creature's hide did not possess the same resistance its hands did. The saber's blade left a shallow, scorching cut across its recipient's front. Unable to land a proper finishing blow, Jresh opted to instead land as many minor attacks as he could.

* * *

"You believe myself to be connected to that… thing?" the spirit asked, straightening his ghostly stance, his voice still full of pride.

"Yes. Even if you don't," Lorrik declared. "It's a product of Sith Alchemy, correct? The process of altering life itself?"

"As astute observation, boy. Limited, but astute."

"Why limited?"

"Because I was practicing the art before I had ever stepped foot on Korriban. Before the Jedi even knew of the Sith," the spirit explained. "Sith Alchemy was the mere practice of primitives until we arrived. No, what we wielded was something much more. The ability to create new forms of life. A dark power, one we went to war with the Jedi over the right to study."

"Dark Jedi," Lorrik muttered. "Exiles from the Hundred-Year Darkness. The first Sith Lords."

* * *

Jresh and the Massassi continued to do battle. Numerous cuts marked the creature's body, but it showed little signs of fatigue or exhaustion. The Pureblood kept up his fight to the fullest, but he knew he could not fight eternally. As the warrior readied another downward swipe of his weapon, the beast extended its arm, ready to grasp the crimson blade. Instead of halting his attack, Jresh deactivated the blade mid swing, reactivating it after the hilt was past the creature's reach. The extending blade clipped the Massassi's side as Jresh finished his swing.

Jresh continued his assault, making quick strikes, rescinding and extending the blade of his lightsaber to make it past his enemy's claws. Each attack could only graze the monster's body, but the wounds were beginning to add up. Liquid began to seep from the beast's wounds, the cauterized cuts reopening near places of articulation. A dark red liquid slowly poured from the injuries, an unnatural ichor.

Bringing down his saber one last time, the warrior's strike was halted by the beast clasping its claw around his wrist. As his right arm was stilled, Jresh delivered a series of blows to the Massassi's oozing midsection with his free hand. As his fist battered the creature's abdomen, the guardian slowly twisted the warrior's wrist, directing the lightsaber's blade toward its wielder. Jresh shut off the weapon in time to prevent it from cutting into his own flesh. The beast continued to push and twist the Pureblood's arm, until the emitter of the lightsaber pressed against his chest.

Turning on his heels, Jresh moved inward rather than attempt to escape. Maneuvering the Massassi behind him, his wrist still gripped, the warrior grabbed ahold of the creature's arm with his free hand. With a hearty grunt, Jresh lifted the beast off the ground, and threw him over his shoulder, slamming the guardian onto the ground in front of him. Just as the Massassi's back struck the stone floor it released its grip on the Pureblood's wrist. Igniting his saber one last time, Jresh lowered himself and plunged the crimson blade into the heart of the fallen beast.

As the Massassi lay motionless upon the ground, Jresh withdrew his lightsaber and rose to his feet. For the next few seconds he simply stared at the fallen being, letting out a series of exhausted breaths. Returning the black hilt to his belt, the Pureblood took a single step away from his fallen foe, before his legs began to weaken and falter. Jresh caught a single glimpse of a light at the end of the hall Lorrik had traveled. Before he could take another step, his entire body grew heavy and he slumped to the ground.


	81. 3-05 Paths

**Chapter Five: Paths**

The spirit let out a harsh grunt as he clutched at his chest, sinking to his knees. Lorrik turned toward the previous chamber, an unfamiliar coldness brewing within him. Not the usual sinister chill, but one of creeping somberness. Just as the inquisitor began to take a step back toward the hallway, he found his other foot sufficiently glued to the ground. Looking back, Lorrik saw that even as he knelt upon the stone floor, the spirit held out a single clawing hand. A burdening force pressed down on the inquisitor's body, attempting to hold him in place.

"Do not… turn your back on me…" the spirit harshly commanded through gritted teeth.

"Let me go!" Lorrik directed. "You may not care about that thing in there, but I care about my partner! Your guardian may be dead, but I can save Jresh!"

"Dead?" the spirit replied, maintaining his grip. "You don't understand, boy, it cannot die. While others used their talents to raise armies, I used mine constructing and molding the perfect killing machine."

"Anything can be killed… even the dead," Lorrik declared. "You know this don't you? Those who draw upon the dark side cannot willingly persist after their bodies perish. Their spirits require a tether. To some idea, some place, some item. But that didn't suit you did it? You had no idea to cling to. You rejected being limited to any single place. You refused to bind yourself to something of simple material worth. So you chose the one thing you were certain could outlast you. But now you find your tether in danger of being cut. And you are afraid. Afraid of what might happen should my friend and I succeed here today."

"I have not yet faded, boy… I am still here!"

Lorrik stopped struggling, stopped resisting the spirit's clutch. His once passionate eyes had relaxed as he stared toward the faint light emanating from the previous chamber. His panicked breathing steadied, and he was overtaken with calm. Even as the spirit attempted to hold him in place, the inquisitor put his strength into facing the ethereal figure.

"Why?" Lorrik asked, soft, almost whispering.

"What?" the spirit replied as his head perked up.

"Why are you still here? Why stick around? Why not move on?"

"Move on? Can you honestly call yourself a Sith?"

"Can you?" Lorrik replied. "Weren't the Sith just a breed of primitive Force-users to you?"

"I have insight beyond these halls, boy," the spirit declared. "I have sensed the progression of the Order since its earliest days within this tomb. I have witnessed its changes."

"And yet for thousands of years you've watched and waited. For what? Your time to return? If there hasn't been a suitable time yet, there never will be. Peace has changed to war and back again, cycle after cycle. The Sith have fallen, only to return. The Jedi have been defeated, only to regain their strength. Are you waiting? Or are you incapable? Is this a tomb, or a prison?"

"I could walk amongst the living at any time should I desire to!" the spirit exclaimed.

"Do you desire to? Do you desire anything? There's no power to be gained here. You guard no secrets. You think your techniques haven't been replicated in your absence? Your selfishness helps no one. Not even yourself. Not anymore."

"You dare to lecture me, boy?" the spirit harshly offered, tightening his grip. Even as the invisible force grew heavier, Lorrik offered only the same stoic visage.

"Then tell me. What is it you hope to accomplish?" Lorrik asked. "Do you want to rule the galaxy? Do you want to be left alone? Do you want to prove something? What?"

"And you think yourself any better than I, little Sith?"

"Yes. I do. I desire freedom, and the knowledge to necessitate it. I desire knowledge, and the freedom to necessitate it. I want to keep moving forward, until I am able to protect the things I care about."

"And what next? You'll find out soon enough that Force-users can't possess normal desires," the spirit stated, his voice lowered. "We either realize that they are beyond our grasp, or worse yet, we actually achieve them. And then you find yourself asking… what next? What next?"

"Should I find my desires met, I'll use the rest of my time and energy trying to fix the galaxy."

The spirit let out a low chortle. "And just who do you think you are to be capable of such a thing?"

"I am the shadow amongst the light. The candle amidst the darkness. I am Lorrik Velash!"

Just as he finished his declaration, the inquisitor released forceful blast of telekinetic energy, breaking free of the spirit's hold and knocking the ethereal figure back. The spirit was tossed to the floor at the other end of the chamber, landing with his back against the pedestal on which his holocron sat.

"I know who I am. Can you say the same?"

From his seated position, the spirit remained motionless, only a soft noise emanating from him. A low chuckle, growing progressively louder and emotive. Lorrik tilted his head at the fallen ghost until another sound overpowered the laughter. A series of loud thuds resonated in the connecting hall, growing louder by the second. The inquisitor turned to see a large shadow approaching, lumbering.

"Jresh?" Lorrik concernedly whispered. As the figure approached, more and more of its form was revealed. The outline was broad and hunched. As it stepped closer and closer to the light of the chamber, the fearsome facade of the Massassi became clear. The creature's crimson flesh was marred with countless slashes and cuts from a lightsaber, culminating in the loss of an arm and a single piercing wound carved into its chest. Still it walked upright, determined and unrelenting. Lorrik's legs began to weaken and shake. He took a woozy step back, deeper into the chamber, but there was nowhere to go.

"Well, Mr. Velash… what next?" the spirit's voice rang out behind him.

Lorrik watched as the beast slowly advanced, driven toward the inquisitor, its clawed feet leaving clacking thuds in its wake. Just as the Human though to react, the monster's front was illuminated by the presence of a crimson beam of light. The blade of a lightsaber had been thrust through its abdomen, and slowly raised until it had cut up to where the original stabbing wound had been inflicted. The beast's advance stopped as it bent its swollen neck to gaze into the energy beam piercing its body. As the blade retracted, the Massassi stood with a scorched gash from its stomach to its chest, before falling forward, revealing the Pureblood that stood behind him. A loud thud resonated through the chamber as the Massassi struck the ground.

Jresh continued forward, stepping over the fallen Massassi and deactivating his lightsaber. As he groggily stepped into the final chamber, Lorrik saw a clear picture of the wounds his partner had sustained. The right half of his face was covered in dried blood from the three gashes wrought by the Massassi's claws. His hair was distraught, much of it caked with blood from the wound in the back of his head. But still he moved, still he pressed forward, driven by some unseen force until he locked eyes with his companion. Seeing his companion standing across from him, safe and sound, the Pureblood cracked a subtle smile before falling forward.

Lorrik rushed forward to catch him, almost being crushed by the weight of his armored partner. Slowly, he lowered himself and the wounded Pureblood to the floor, the inquisitor kneeling and resting his companion's head within his lap. As Jresh's eyes grew heavier and heavier, Lorrik struggled to subdue the concern within his own. Cupping the back of his partner's head, the inquisitor closed his eyes and focused his energies, a dim light emanating from his hands.

Lorrik put forth all his energy attempting to heal the wound in the back of his companion's head. Slowly, pieces of bone began to settle and fall back into place, flesh regenerating and mending over it. Running his hands through the Pureblood's matted hair, Lorrik felt no trace of the wound. Withdrawing them however, the Human saw his palms covered in his companion's blood.

"Jresh. Jresh, are you alright," Lorrik asked in a hushed manner, concern creeping back into his eyes. The Pureblood adopted a harsh scowl as he let a low grumble slip past his lips, wincing at the three slashes that still covered half his face. Despite the fact that his companion was in pain, Lorrik's eyes widened with wonder and excitement at the response.

"I may have exaggerated… when I said I was more than capable of handling it," Jresh muttered with his usual stoicism. The inquisitor let out a soft chuckle.

"Nonsense. I never doubted you for a second," Lorrik declared.

"I know you didn't," Jresh stated as he struggled to lift his head from his partner's lap. Slowly, the warrior turned over and began to push himself up off the floor. Working to keep his stance straight, the Pureblood saw the ethereal figure at the end of the chamber writhing on the ground, clutching at its abdomen. "Who's that?"

"The owner of this tomb," Lorrik plainly stated. Jresh took a few groggy steps toward the spirit who continued to stir.

"How… how did you…" the spirit muttered into the floor. Digging his elbows to the stone floor, the ethereal figure slowly lifted himself from the ground with a hearty grunt. Just as he was half way toward standing, he looked up to see the Pureblood hovering over him. And before he could offer any words, the warrior clenched his fist and delivering a powerful right hook to the spirit's jaw, sending him crashing back down to the floor. As the ghost lied motionless on the ground, his figure began to slowly fade until he vanished from sight.

"I didn't know you could punch a ghost," Lorrik offered as he looked on, baffled.

"Neither did I," Jresh nonchalantly confessed. Eyeing the holocron on the nearby pedestal, the Pureblood took the pyramid-shaped artifact and held in in his hand, the base of which fit perfectly within the spread of his fingers. "Do you want this?"

"Sure, it'll give us something to bring to Syrosk," Lorrik stated as he raised himself from the floor, holding out a hand to receive the artifact. The warrior tossed the holocron to his companion and the two decided to exit the chamber.

As they made their way through the preceding hallway, Lorrik had to slow his pace so as to not outrun his wounded companion. The warrior's armor concealed any wounds to his body. For all Lorrik knew, Jresh possessed only minor bruises and sores, or was pushing through with numerous broken bones. The two passed through the chamber where the battle between warrior and beast took place. The dim lights of the hanging crystals and sigil in the room's center still shined, numerous droplets of blood and black ichor staining the floor around them.

Before exiting the chamber, Jresh took pause. Lorrik turned to see his companion kneeling, not from pain but from inquiry. He held, within his hand, another hand. The severed right limb of the Massassi guardian.

"I know you warriors like your trophies, but…" Lorrik began, a bit bewildered.

"The beast possessed the most interesting of traits," Jresh explained, as he studied the arm. "I couldn't cut through blackened flesh below the elbow. He blocked my blade with his bare claws, even managed to pierce the containment field and short out the lightsaber for a time."

Lorrik scratched his chin. "Hmm. Sounds like cortosis, but I don't know if its usage dates back to when this tomb was probably built. If fact, this place probably predates the modern lightsaber as we know it."

"More Sith Alchemy," Jresh suggested. "His hands were forged into weapons, flesh fused with some material on a molecular level, transformed into… this. Interesting."

"We might find some answers in this holocron, but I don't-"

"Don't worry, my interest lies in understanding, and finding a way to combat it. I'd never resort to using such measures on myself."

"Well that's a relief. I'd hate to see you becoming anything like that monster," Lorrik stated. Jresh raised himself from the ground, still grasping the Massassi's severed arm. Just as he was about to continue his trek, he found his steps thrown off by a dizziness swirling within his head. The Human rushed to his companion's side and steadied him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just tired," Jresh declared. Lorrik stared at the three slashes that stretched across the right side of the warrior's face.

"Jresh, those claws may have been toxic. Let me treat your wounds," Lorrik advised, reaching out with his hand. As his fingertips brushed his partner's cheek, his head immediately recoiled. "Sorry, I know how much you don't like physical contact."

"No it's not that. It's just that it legitimately stings," Jresh begrudgingly admitted, almost ashamed of being in pain. Lorrik let out another soft chuckle as he gently laid a hand on the Pureblood's cheek, hovering his palm over the series of cuts.

"Remember, I'm good with flesh wounds… venom is a bit more complicated," Lorrik explained.

"I think the worst is behind us."

As Lorrik finished mending his companion's wounds, he looked over the Pureblood's shoulder to see movement amongst the shadows. Jresh saw his partner's eyes widen, and turned around to see the Massassi marching into the chamber, missing an arm, and the last wound he inflicted scabbed over with charred flesh mixed with black ichor.

"I'm almost starting to respect his tenacity," Jresh stated as he retrieved the lightsaber from his belt.

"Wait a minute," Lorrik whispered, keeping a hand on his companion's shoulder.

Together they watched at the guardian continued its slow trudge into the chamber. The beast paused only for a moment to stare at the pair, only to resume on its path toward the room's center. Ignoring the two intruders, the Massassi returned to its point of origin within the runed markings upon the ground. It remained perfectly still as the sigil began to light up and once more, the guardian was in stasis.

"I think we've earned a safe passage out of here," Lorrik declared.

"I suppose you and that ghost had an engaging conversation?"

"We did. But I think your demonstration left quite an impact."

The chamber was still. Nothing was left to oppose the intruders. Battered, but not beaten, the two walked side by side toward the tomb's entrance, prizes in hand, ready to present to their master.


	82. 3-06 Prizes

**Chapter Six: Prizes**

Emerging from the shattered entryway of the tomb, Lorrik and Jresh winced as the light of the Korriban sun stung their eyes. Despite the bright rays and the consuming soreness that plagued the warrior's body, the pair seemed to be in high spirits.

"Really? 'I am the shadow amongst the light'?" Jresh teased before letting out a brief chuckle that was cut short by a coughing fit.

Lorrik scratched the back of his head in embarrassment, laughing alongside his partner. "I was in the moment…"

"So was I. Now if only the Massassi had let me get out my catchphrase before he decided to rearrange the back of my head," Jresh sarcastically offered.

"Did you give it a silent, stern look beforehand? If so, then yes, you did manage to get out your catchphrase," Lorrik joked. The Pureblood turned to offer a quick stare toward his companion. "Yes, that's the one."

The two continued their journey toward where their master waited. Even in the distance, the pair could see that more than a single figure stood beside the landed shuttle. In fact, it appeared that they would be the last to arrive. Syrosk and the other six apprentices turned to watch the pair's sluggish, wounded approach.

"Wow, looks like we're last," Lorrik muttered. "I lost track of time, how long do you think we were in there?"

"Again. Back of head. Rearranged," Jresh offered in typical deadpan fashion. Lorrik leaned back to sneak a quick look at the aforementioned area.

"At least I seem to have been able to put everything back in its place. Although it's hard to tell under the layer of… blood…" Lorrik trailed off.

"Surely this isn't the first time you've seen someone shed blood on Korriban?"

"I know, it's just… unsettling when it's coming out of someone you care about," Lorrik admitted. The Pureblood offered a knowing nod as the pair pressed forward.

The others stood outside the shuttle, each pair of apprentices possessing some item retrieved from their tomb, and a look of impatience upon their faces. Their various robes and armors were rustled and bared an assortment of scuffs and scratches, each pair suffering their own sets of injuries, though all less severe than the Pureblood's. But despite any pains wrought, they each stood tall and proud, their prizes held firmly in hand.

Nesk and Vurt had delved into the tomb of the Nameless Ravager, and returned with a pair of ancient Sith war blades. The dueling swords were matte black, simple and unadorned, yet still in perfect condition and a sharp as the day they were forged.

Kar'ai and Ryloh had entered the tomb of the Blind Lord, and came back with the eponymous Sith's facemask. The trinket was featureless and black as night, a shadow materialized in the form of a plate that covered the entirety of the wearer's face.

Isorr and Arlia had explored the tomb of the Prime Collector, and took a handful of lightsaber crystals from its halls. The rare assortment came in a variety of colors, some the other apprentices had never seen in person or even referenced in archives.

Jresh and Lorrik took their place near the others, brandishing their holocron and severed hand. The other six's eyes seemed immediately drawn to the Pureblood who was struggling to maintain an upright stance, a blackened claw resting firmly within his gloved hand.

"Yeesh, what happen to you Jresh?" Kar'ai asked, only a single, barely apparent cut visible across her left cheek.

"Tomb was guarded," Jresh explained, momentarily raising and lowering the Massassi's hand. "I take it ours wasn't the only one?"

"No, ours had ancient battle droids," Kar'ai replied.

"K'lor'slugs managed to dig their way into ours," Arlia added.

"How about you, Nesk?" Lorrik asked.

"Only dead things," the Trandoshan bluntly answered.

"Eloquent as always," Lorrik said before turning to his master, who looked upon with apprentices with usual stoicism.

"And so the last pair returns," Syrosk declared. The Sith Lord panned his gaze to look upon the holocron the Human held within his hand. "I dare say this is a step up from the one you presented to me before," Syrosk stated, recalling the small trinket Lorrik had brought to his second day of training. He turned to see the severed hand held by the weakened Pureblood. "And ironically, Jresh has maintained the same theme of bodily harm."

"And in neither moment have I regretted my actions," Jresh declared.

"Of course you haven't," Syrosk rasped. "Now, I'm sure you all are wondering the purpose of this trial. I did not desire the contents the these tombs, whether they be in my possession or yours. I had asked you to return with something, and stated that you would be judged on whatever that was. Now tell me, do you believe you should be judged on the trinkets you hold in your hands, or something else?"

The students were hesitant to speak. As proud as they were of the relics in their hands, they knew there was more to this trial than their material worth. Only one possessed the belief that he knew the answer.

"Something else," Lorrik assuredly declared.

"Is that so?" Syrosk stated, feigning surprise. "Would you care to elaborate?"

"Inside that tomb, I came to a realization. One I might never have attained had I not faced what I faced in there. And the knowledge that's come with that realization, is more valuable than anything material prize I could have walked out with."

"And what, pray tell, was this knowledge?" Syrosk continued.

"Insight into the nature of our relationship," Lorrik answered, motioning his hand between himself and his companion. "I realized and Jresh and I are connected."

"Connected?" Syrosk repeated, intrigued.

"We share a bond. He lends me his strength, and I lend him mine. As he grows stronger, so do I. Together we can accomplish things we never could alone."

"I see," Syrosk stated, almost expecting the answer.

"But that's not all," Lorrik added, to the genuine surprise of his master. "Just as we share strengths, we also share weaknesses. Whenever he is in pain, I am in pain. When I am afraid, he is afraid. Our connection runs deeper than simple cooperation. Even when we are separated and locked in our individual tasks, our bond persists. I know whatever faults hold me back, will hold him back as well. If I cannot advance, no longer is it only to my detriment. But whereas other Sith would be afraid of such an arrangement, I am not. Together, we are more than just the sum of our individual talents. We bolster one another. Drive each other forward. Push each other's limits far beyond what either of us could achieve alone."

Syrosk locked eyes with the Human, offering an enduring, cold stare. "Then it would seem that my teachings have had the desired effect."

Some of the other apprentices began to stir at their master's apparent support of Lorrik's declaration.

"Wait, you mean that was the point of these pairings, to create some sort of Force bond?" Arlia inquired.

Isorr balked. "To be dependent upon one another? To sacrifice the self for another's sole benefit. Such endorsement of reliance does not fit a Sith!"

"I have been Sith longer than the Republic has even known of our existence," Syrosk harshly declared, shooting a cold stare at the Zabrak. "And if there is one thing that has become apparent in all my years, it is that no one, not even Sith, are free from the burden of reliance. From the lowliest acolytes to members of the Dark Council, they rely on something. Even if that something is as simple as a lightsaber, the Force, or even themselves, it is reliance."

"But those cannot be taken away from you as easily as another living being," Isorr countered.

"Can't they?" Syrosk asked. "Can your lightsaber not be lost or destroyed? Can your connection to the Force not be outmatched or even severed? Can the sum total of your knowledge and skills not be rendered utterly insignificant in the face of a greater individual? All Sith rely on something, whether they realize it or not. And anything relied upon can be taken away, whether they realize it or not. I have provided you something worth relying on."

"And what about you?" Arlia asked. "What do you rely on, or are you somehow conveniently different from the rest of us?"

"I am not foolish enough to think myself exempt from my own teachings," Syrosk rasped. "In my earlier years, the focus of my reliance rested with my master, as it would with many Sith. He taught me, trained me, led me toward something I would have never sought out on my own. But he was more than a mere teacher. He was the father who raised me. The protector who shielded an alien within the Empire. But eventually the day would come when he was killed, and I lost more than his guidance. That experience is partly why I have not fostered the same bond between myself and you all. Sith are far too invested in the status of their superiors and inferiors. They utterly discount the presence of their equals."

"That's because you'd be hard pressed to find a Sith who believes in the idea of equals," Kar'ai lightheartedly added.

"Whether you admit to it or not, all eight of you belong to a distinct class of Sith, more similar to one another than any other in the Empire," Syrosk declared. "And if you still hesitate to believe me, you should know, amongst those who knew of these tombs was Darth Tash, the man responsible for your tenure at the Academy. For years, he's known of these tombs, and he is not the kind of man who would let such places slip from his mind. He feared what lied within this valley as much as any other Sith. And yet, here you all stand, each of you having entered and returned with evidence of your endeavor. You have survived the places where even Lords fear to tread. Do any of you believe you could have done so alone? Do any of you believe you could have accomplished the same had you stayed within Tash's classrooms, or if you had been entered into the Academy proper?"

The apprentices fell silent, lowering their heads before turning to one another, focusing on their partners. Lorrik and Jresh shared a confident look of mutual appreciation. Kar'ai and Ryloh gazed into each other's eyes, fully embracing their newfound realization. Isorr and Arlia shared a look, each aware of the other's selfishness, but slowly admitting to themselves the worth of their companion. Nesk and Vurt offered each other only cold, vacant stares, but even they had come to respect and appreciate one another's skills.

"But if this was the purpose all along, why not just tell us earlier?" Lorrik asked.

"The nature of the bonds you each possess cannot be forced. It is a symbiotic link in the Force between two individuals. Because a Sith's connection to the Force relies on and rewards conflict, each pairing has thrived due to the nature of its construction. Different skillsets. Different backgrounds. I knew that if you could resist destroying one another, you could become something great. Plus, Jedi are simply told things. A Sith ought to be expected to figure something out for themselves every now again. And are we not Sith?"

Each apprentice offered a confident, affirming nod to their master.

"Good. Then our training is done for the day," Syrosk declared before turning to board the parked shuttle.

"Wait…now that we know all this, what impact does it have on our future trials?" Lorrik asked.

"For one, it means I can stop taking it easy on you all," Syrosk bluntly said as he entered the vessel. The eight apprentices shared a quick round of looks before following their master's lead, boarding the shuttle and preparing for the trip back to the Academy.


	83. 3-07 Connections

**Chapter Seven: Connections**

As the shuttle made its way back to the Academy, the nine Sith sat in silence. Syrosk stood at the back of the passenger bay, arms crossed, head dipped, and eyes closed, no doubt locked within his own thoughts. The apprentices meanwhile, sat on the benches to either side of the shuttle, quiet, but not utterly without conversation.

"I think the others are staring at us," Lorrik mentally suggested to his companion. His gaze was fixed upon the floor, rising only to make a passing glance at his fellow students. None of the apprentices were willing to make eye contact but for the briefest of moments. Each pair kept to themselves, likely conversing through telepathy to hide their thoughts from anyone but their partners.

"It's understandable," Jresh mentally replied, himself situated much like his master, calm and composed even in his battle-worn state. "I'd say you managed to stir things up quite a bit."

"You think so?"

"You were the first to uncover the true meaning of the master's plan, of course the other apprentices are going to have some feelings on the subject. You've earned his favor, and you've earned their interest. No telling if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

"Were we ordinary Sith, I'd assume it was a matter of jealousy and disdain. But we are far from ordinary," Lorrik admitted. "There's a part of them that wants to reject Syrosk's idea, something deep seeded from our earlier years in the Academy. But it doesn't seem to be controlling them. You feel it don't you? The utter lack of anger or animosity here. Everyone is calm, even Nesk. Sure there's some underlying confusion and internal conflict, but pride prevails. And not just singular pride. It's like everyone suddenly realized the nature of their accomplishments. We convinced them of the benefits of cooperation back in the wastes. I'd say we managed to take that a step further today."

"We? Lorrik, despite the current nature of our partnership, you must give yourself credit for your accomplishments," Jresh advised. "Had it not been for you, none of us might have made it back from the wastes. I know Kar'ai definitely wouldn't have. You've had as much an impact on this group as Syrosk has."

"I don't know if I'd say that," Lorrik offered.

"Syrosk is a fine teacher," Jresh admitted. "Our physical performance has improved beyond measure. Our knowledge and wisdom have been vastly expanded. He's given a place and purpose that we would not otherwise possess if not for his intervening. But over the many months we've spent under him, have you ever believed yourself to be receiving all he could offer?"

"I know what you mean," Lorrik stated. "It is in a Sith Lord's nature to be mysterious, but Syrosk… after all this time, there's still so many unanswered questions. The day we returned from the wastes, I thought that'd be it, we'd finally understand everything about our place in the Academy. It was an enlightening day for sure, but I've no doubt he's kept many things close to his chest. It's been months since then, and we are just now figuring out the entire point behind putting us into pairs. We still don't know why there are eight of us. Why he apparently leaves so many things to chance. We still don't know what's going on with the classrooms we were 'liberated' from. I hate that so many questions go unanswered, but I hate even more the prospect that some of these questions may not even have answers."

"Answers are deserved only by those brave enough to ask questions," Jresh declared. "And I believe that you are more than deserving. I'm sure you'll have them in time."

"Thanks Jresh, that means a lot."

"We've come a long way, Lorrik. We no longer need to fear the unknown. In our earlier days, we could not question Syrosk, lest we risk being cast from his sphere, losing our only perceived chance at apprenticeship. That time has passed. We stand capable of challenging our master, no longer blindly obeying and taking him at his word. And we are not alone."

"The others are strong. Just as strong as us. And I'm sure our desires overlap," Lorrik offered. "But I cannot say for certain whether they'd be willing to risk their relationship with the master."

"We are not rejecting Syrosk, nor disposing of him. We are simply challenging him. Letting him know that we have advanced far beyond the level of mere acolytes. Letting him know that we are deserving of something more than the occasional cryptic bit of information. And you should believe the others would follow you. I know I would."

"Well, of course you would."

"Really? You recall the man I was when we first met in the lecture hall. I was isolated. I placed only as much faith in the partnership as was necessary to please my new master. I believed there was something of worth within you, but back then, there was little I would have expected of you. Now, you have proven yourself far beyond anything I could have hoped to expect. You have proven yourself able to rise to the challenge, to overcome physical and mental strain that would demolish lesser Sith. You are still here, despite the fact that you could have left. But you didn't. You stayed on Korriban because there was something you still needed to accomplish."

"That doesn't mean the others would automatically follow my lead."

"You respect them, don't you? Well, I can assure you, they respect you as well. You proved yourself out in the wastes. They realized you were more than just a gleeful acolyte hiding behind his collected knowledge. You were someone capable of converting plan into action. Someone capable of thinking beyond the self. You proved that there was no ulterior motive behind your kindness, your compassion, and that there was no weakness born from them, only strength. Syrosk is a sufficient guide, but you… you can be a leader."

Lorrik remained silent as his gaze remained glued to the floor. His companion's words swirled in his head. He held the acquired holocron in his hand, thumbing the edges as his foot incessantly tapped against the shuttle's floor. The hum of the ship's engines overtook his senses, drowning out everything else. Time began to fly by. There were no more conversations to be had, no more thoughts to exchange, just the passing of the minutes until they would arrive at the Academy.

* * *

The vessel carrying the Sith Lord and his apprentices set down as the Korriban sun was doing the same. The eight students exited into the dulling light followed by their master. As the Academy stood in the distance, a strange feeling overcame the apprentices. Never before had they looked upon their home with such a feeling of accomplishment. They each had some item to their name, some relic that even the true students of the establishment would love to possess.

Though they had fought against forces old and received their fair share of wounds, the students felt warm amidst the cooling dusk. A warmness that had not been matched since the moment they returned safely from the wastes of Korriban. The pairs remained silent as they trekked back to their homes. Lord Syrosk faded from sight along the way, disappearing from the students' notices as he often did.

Back at the suite, Lorrik input the door code and entered alongside his partner. The pair was home, free of the burdens of the outside world within their cozy domicile. Lorrik approached his desk and set the holocron next to his datapad. The Human jumped as the severed hand of the Massassi landed next to it with a soft thud, Jresh having tossed it from across the room. Lorrik turned to see the warrior limp toward his bedroom.

"You going to be okay, Jresh?" Lorrik asked with concern.

"Just need to clean up and meditate, I'll be fine," Jresh stated, trying to put his partner at ease.

"Need any help getting out of your armor? I mean… I don't know how you put it on, let alone how you take it off, I just…" Lorrik struggled to articulate, thinking of anything he could do to help his partner.

"It's okay Lorrik. Worry about yourself for a few hours. You've done enough for the rest of us today," Jresh warmly stated before retreating to his bedroom. Lorrik smiled as he tried to reign in the concern in his mind.

Taking a seat at his desk, the inquisitor looked upon the items retrieved from the tomb. The pyramid-shaped holocron sat in its structural magnificence, but offered nothing of interest beyond its design. It neither glowed nor hummed, to any other it would appear an ornate model. Beside it rest the motionless hand taken from the undying guardian of the tomb. The four fingered hand still bore a pitch blackness that stretched up its forearm, showing only a sliver of crimson flesh before the cutting point.

The Human's focus was on the hand, looking upon it with a perturbed visage. Slowly, he extended a finger to give it a gentle prod. It rocked back and forth upon his desk, stiff and hardened. Lorrik was relieved to find that the item had yet to leak onto his other belongings, but began to worry about the decision to bring it into their home. As well preserved as the ancient Massassi was, the inquisitor had no reason to believe the claw could last disconnected from its source. And he was hesitant in placing in the fridge next to his food.

He turned his attention to the holocron. He knew not what secrets rested within, only that they did. There was a chance it held nothing, but the inquisitor refused to belief such a notion. He knew the severity of the injuries his partner sustained, and he knew that it couldn't have been for nothing.

Lorrik picked up the relic, turning it over in his hand, examining each face of the holocron. No switches, no buttons, nothing to interact with. The inquisitor closed his eyes and studied the item with his mind, pouring over each surface, penetrating the outer layer to examine its interior workings. After minutes of close scrutiny, Lorrik decided the Force was needed to activate it. But even after allowing the Force to flow through it, it offered no response.

"He didn't want just anyone opening it. It's not enough to be Force-sensitive. He would only share his knowledge with those unafraid of the darkness."

Gripping the pyramid in the palm of his right hand, Lorrik sharpened his eyes and furrowed his brow. His breathing intensified as he attempted to channel dark energies, to bring about a spark of Force lightning and surge it through the device. But nothing came from his hand. He tried again, focusing, trying his hardest to conjure the smallest spark, but it was to no avail. The Human couldn't even muster the charge he was able to as an acolyte.

Lorrik pondered at his inability. His first thought was to blame the holocron, but his mind was too clear to jump to such a biased conclusion. He looked inward, searching his own mind for an answer. Upon delving into his own memories, the inquisitor realized that it had been months since he last had to use the technique. He had passed on the ability to others, trained them in its usage, but he himself had no need for it. And no matter how hard he tried, something prevented him from channeling the dark energy. Whereas before, he was inhibited by doubt, he knew that could not be the reason this time. There wasn't an ounce of doubt left within his body. Gone was the doubt, the uncertainty, the pain.

That's when he realized it. He had nothing to draw upon to summon the lightning. Even with all the techniques, all the shortcuts, all the knowledge he possessed, he could not overcome the source required to channel such dark forces. Lorrik set the artifact down upon the desk with a loud thud. Scratching his brow, the inquisitor pondered what he could do. He was frustrated. Angry. Picking up the holocron, he tried once more, focusing on such emotions, but still nothing.

Slowly, he released his grip and raised himself from his desk. The Human began to pace about the living room, circling the meditation mat that rest beneath his feet. He was confident he knew how to activate the holocron, he just lacked the method. He thought to ask Jresh, but knew the warrior's mastery of the force to be inward, not outward. He thought to ask one of other students, but without knowing what lied within, he couldn't risk the proliferation of the relic's secrets. But most of all, he couldn't admit failure.

He knew what he had to do. Lorrik relocated to the kitchen, opened one of the drawers, and snatched a cutting knife before returning to his desk. He sat motionless for a moment, holocron in front of him, knife resting firmly in his left hand. The inquisitor opened his right hand and began eyeing its palm. The lightning needed a power source, and that power source was anger and pain.

He opened and closed his right hand, stretching his fingers and calming himself. He raised his left hand, knife held firmly within his clenched fist, tip pointing downward. The Human steeled himself, taking a couple deep breaths. His nostrils flared. His face tightened. He closed his eyes, and without another moment of hesitation, drove his left hand downward.

The tip of the knife dug into the desk's surface, landing just shy of the inquisitor's other hand. The tool stuck straight up as he removed his grip, leaned back in his chair, and ran his hands through his hair. Lorrik looked upon the knife, and holocron, the severed hand, letting out an exasperated breath.

The Human remembered the bond between himself and his companion. Jresh had endured enough pain for the day, and couldn't risk adding to that, either physically or mentally. But as he realized the pain he might cause his partner, a revelation dawned upon the inquisitor. He did indeed share a bond with the warrior. And Jresh indeed had seen his share of pain that day. They were connected, both ways.

Lorrik took hold of the holocron, cupping its base with both hands. He closed his eyes and focused on the bond that existed between himself and Jresh. The warrior had not yet fully healed. His body was still wracked with pain. Opening himself to the connection, Jresh's pain became his. He experienced what his partner had, he felt what he endured. It was an overwhelming sensation, one that encompassed his entire body, as well as his entire spirit. Sparks of electricity began to arc from the inquisitor's fingertips to the holocron. More and more Force lightning passed from the Human to the relic, and a glow began to appear under its dull red facade.

The holocron had been activated.


	84. 3-08 Relics

**Chapter Eight: Relics**

Lorrik opened his eyes to find himself no longer within his apartment. He now stood on familiar, yet unfamiliar ground. The skies above and dirt blow suggested a Korriban landscape, but the exact spot he had never laid eyes upon before. The sky was still. No wind blew. Everything was silent. The inquisitor had been transported to the top of a rocky plateau, overlooking the surrounding bareness of the orange planet.

But what immediately caught the Human's attention, was that he found himself standing in the shadow of three towering statues. Lining the opposite half of the plateau, three figures carved from stone looked upon him with their frozen gazes. The left statue was of a lithe figure, garbed in heavy robes that concealed much of its body. But its face was that of a Sith, tendrils and spurs sprouting from its cheeks and brow. The right statue was that of a larger, stockier figure. A warrior, clad only in a loincloth and battle-harness crossing its torso. Its unadorned face exhibited Sith traits much like its opposite, and in fact appeared to be the natural basis for the guardian Jresh had battled in the tomb.

The center statue stood taller than its neighbors, a magnificent representation of a Human aware of his own stature. Though he still did not know his name, Lorrik recognized the form. Before he could study his surroundings or his place within them further, the inquisitor's attention was drawn straight ahead as a figure began to materialize at the foot of the center statue. The figure condensed until it was completely corporeal, an image without errors or flaw. An image of the holocron's creator, more realistic than the real thing.

And yet Lorrik knew the figure and all his surroundings were a fabrication. A construct. But one of such detail that it astounded the inquisitor, whose last mental venture offered nothing but a white void. Alone within unfamiliar territory, the inquisitor found himself stricken with wonder, rather than worry or fear. The materialized figure that stood before him cast his stoic gaze upon the intruder.

"This one is the keeper of the holocron. What is your purpose?" he asked in monotonous fashion. The keeper offered a clearer image of the relic's owner, a man in simplistic black robes that hid his body. His head was shaved and his face was cold, but there was little in the way of presence Lorrik expected of one of the first Dark Jedi to step foot on Korriban.

"I seek the knowledge held within this holocron," Lorrik emphatically stated, not entirely certain how to converse with the keeper. From what the inquisitor knew of holocrons, the figure that stood before him acted as the interface between himself and whatever secrets the relic's creator hid within. A program, but more than a simple artificial intelligence. Any Force-user that goes through the effort to create a holocron leaves a bit of themselves with it, a fraction of their psyche to act as a gatekeeper. An advisor. A judge.

"This one requires clarification. What knowledge do you seek?" the keeper asked in the same monotonous tone. There was no life within the figure, he was driven only by the set of instructions left to him by his creator.

"Oh, you know. Secret teachings. Techniques. Powers. Histories. Tales. Lessons. Errata and the like," the inquisitor jokingly listed.

"This one requires clarification. Please make a specific inquiry," the keeper clarified, steadfast in his presentation.

"Hey, you asked, I answered. Not my fault if you take everything seriously," Lorrik muttered.

"This one requires clarification. Please repeat."

"That wasn't a… I wasn't being…" Lorrik stammered.

"This one requires-"

"Yes, I know!" Lorrik shouted at the figure, still steadfast in his neutral stance and monotonous verbiage.

Whatever part of himself the holocron's creator infused into the relic, it wasn't one concerned with convenience. The inquisitor groaned and ran his hands through his hair. Lorrik found himself no closer to uncovering whatever knowledge rest within the artifact whilst the keeper continued to batter his senses, bringing about an increasing discomfort.

"Stop. Reset." Lorrik directed, holding out his hands for emphasis, not entirely sure it would even have an effect. The keeper fell silent, staring off into the distance before reaffirming his gaze toward the inquisitor.

"This one is the keeper of the holocron. What is your purpose?"

Lorrik let out a bellowing sigh as he dipped his head, carefully searching for the right words.

* * *

Back within the confines of the apartment, Jresh had emerged from his shower. Stepping into the living area, the only covering he possessed was a black towel wrapped around his waist, Imperial insignia sewn into the cloth with trademark red fibers. His torso exposed, few blemishes graced his crimson flesh, most of his surface wounds appearing to have healed.

"Lorrik, I sensed something peculiar in-" Jresh began as he saw his companion sitting at his desk. His speech drifted to silence as when saw the Human holding the acquired holocron within his hands, continuous streams of electricity arcing from his fingertips to the relic.

"Lorrik," Jresh repeated, trying to get his attention. But the inquisitor offered no response.

The warrior took a cautious step toward his partner, slowly placing a hand upon his shoulder. Still no reaction. The Pureblood began to worry as he sensed something missing within his partner, as if he wasn't whole. As hard as he tried, Jresh could not get a firm grasp on his companion's mind. He sensed no emotion, no thoughts, only emptiness. But more than emptiness. Nothingness. A void, created through displacement. Jresh realized that though Lorrik sat right in front of him, he wasn't there.

Jresh slowly removed his hand from his partner's shoulder before stepping away. He turned his attention to the meditation mat in the center of the living area. Kneeling, the Pureblood closed his eyes and focused his thoughts. Though Lorrik's mind seemed elsewhere, the bond between him and Jresh still remained. Calling upon that bond, the warrior meditated. Though for the first time, he searched outward, rather than inward.

The Pureblood's senses grew dark as he pushed out everything of insignificance. He reached out with his mind, searching for where his companion's had gone. The warrior traversed unfamiliar territory, unsure of how to accomplish the task he had set for himself. He wasn't entirely sure what that task was in the first place.

As he meditated, Jresh sensed something peculiar. There was a void amidst the darkness. And yet, that void distinguished itself from the surrounding emptiness. There was a barrier, beyond which rest something of substance. The warrior concentrated his efforts in pushing past that barrier, searching, wading through something darker than darkness. And eventually, he managed pierce that veil.

Jresh slowly peeled back the layers of darkness, cracks of light beginning to shine through. The cracks widened and stretched, until the shadows were no more. Regaining control of his senses, the warrior found himself standing atop a mountainous plateau, basking under the Korriban sun. Three statues graced the opposite side of the mesa, a robed figure standing in front of them, and in front of him an annoyed inquisitor sat upon the ground, face buried in his hands.

"This one is the keeper of this holocron. What is your purpose?" the robed figure asked once more.

"Oh don't tell me we're back to this," Lorrik muttered. Lifting his gaze, the inquisitor noticed that the keeper had turned his attention elsewhere. Turning his head, he saw his companion standing somewhat dumbfounded behind him. "Jresh? What are you doing here? And where are your clothes?"

The Pureblood looked down to see that his mental representation reflected his physical form, naked aside from the towel wrapped around his waist.

"I just stepped out of the shower. I saw you with the holocron, and… well, you seemed a little out of it," Jresh stated, a slight bashfulness slipping past his usual stoicism.

"Well, if we're being technical, I'd say I was quite literally in it," Lorrik declared as he lifted himself from the ground.

"You mean… we're inside the holocron right now?"

"Our minds are," Lorrik nonchalantly explained, turning his back on the robed figure. "How did you get here? I had to practically push my way in."

"I did as well. At least, I think I did," Jresh admitted. "I was worried when I couldn't sense your mind. Considering our newfound bond, I considered that troublesome. But it was because of that bond that I was able to eventually find my way here."

"So you were able to use your connection to me to replicate my connection to the holocron and bring your mind in alongside mine… that's awesome!" Lorrik exclaimed. The inquisitor's momentarily high spirits were cut short as he noticed the keeper continuing its robotic chattering a short distance away. Letting out a low groan, Lorrik began to rub his forehead in frustration.

"Is everything… okay?" Jresh asked. "Are you trapped here? Are we trapped here?"

"No. At least… I don't think so, I haven't exactly tried to 'leave' yet," Lorrik explained, no sense of alarm in his voice, only quaint exhaustion. "Been trying to deal with this guy."

Jresh watched his partner jut his thumb toward the stern figure that was now patiently staring them down. "And who is that, exactly?"

"Well, typically, holocrons have a 'gatekeeper', a sort of Force-infused artificial intelligence that serves as the layer between a user and the item's contents. Thing is, they're supposed to come out of the holocron, we're not supposed to go in," Lorrik declared. "It's all very interesting. And peculiar. But mostly interesting. Also, a little frustrating. I honestly think I got better results dealing with the spirit."

"You want me to punch this one too?" Jresh asked, almost cracking a smile.

"Thanks for the offer, but I don't think brute force will get us anywhere here," Lorrik stated, his spirits once again raised by his partner's presence. "I need to use finesse."

"Finesse does not preclude direct action," Jresh advised.

"I tried being direct. This whole thing feels less like an ancient relic and more like a datapad that refuses to read my datacard," Lorrik mused. The pair fell silent as they stood atop the plateau, unsure how to proceed. The Pureblood scratched his chin as he pondered the situation, thinking of some way to aid his companion.

"You said this man is the holocron's gatekeeper?" Jresh asked.

"Well, he just calls himself the 'keeper', but he should serve the same role," Lorrik explained.

"A gatekeeper guards access to something. But if you're in the holocron, wouldn't that mean you've already been granted access," Jresh stated. The inquisitor perked up, eyes wide as if a great revelation had been laid upon him.

"That's it! Jresh, you're a genius," Lorrik exclaimed as he wrapped his arms around the Pureblood, squeezing him tightly. The warrior tensed within his partner's embrace. Even if it wasn't a true contact between their physical forms, their mental representations touching one another felt real enough. Lorrik released his grip and took a step back, hanging his head in embarrassment but still giddy with his newfound knowledge. "I've been going about this all wrong. I guess my head was in the wrong place, figuratively speaking. Then again, it doesn't help that I seem to be physically and mentally exhausted…"

"You're forced to maintain a physical connection to ensure a mental one," Jresh stated. "If you overstay your welcome, it'll completely drain you."

"Things just keep getting more interesting," Lorrik declared, completely ignoring the prospect of danger. "This is more than just some repository of knowledge. It has a hidden purposes, hidden agendas known only to its creator. I have so many questions… and I intend to find some answers."

"Just be careful," Jresh advised. "It's one thing to overexert your body. There's no telling what could happen to you in here."

"I'll be fine. I always ere on the side of caution."

Jresh playfully balked. "Always?"

"Okay, not always. But I got this, you'll just have to trust me."

"Alright, I'll trust you," Jresh admitted. "If you want, I could stay here, make sure everything goes okay."

"That's kind of you to offer, but I kind of find it hard to stay focused with a half-naked Sith Pureblood by my side," Lorrik joked.

"I'm sure if I concentrated I could alter my appearance."

"No, it's quite okay. You've already given me all that I need. Get some rest, I just want to try a few things before I'm done here. If I'm not back to normal in a few hours, I give you full permission to come in and drag me out of here."

The warrior offered a firm nod of his head as the inquisitor turned his attention to the silent keeper. Jresh took one final look around at the remarkable landscape the holocron had constructed for itself before closing his eyes. After a few moments of concentration, he opened them, finding himself once more kneeling within the apartment's living area.

Lifting himself from the meditation mat, Jresh saw Lorrik still connected to the relic within his hands. Conflicting emotions brewed within the warrior's head, but he knew that he had to give his companion the same trust that had been imparted upon him. The Pureblood placed a gentle, comforting hand upon the Human's shoulder before retiring to his own bedroom.

Back within the fabricated reality of the holocron, Lorrik approached the relic's keeper, offering only a stern, determined gaze deep into the eyes of the robed figure. He, in turn, offered the usual cold look back to the inquisitor.

"This one is the keeper of the holocron. What is your purpose?"

Lorrik now knew that he had nothing to prove. He had already passed the test and gained access to the holocron's contents. His mind was within the relic. All that surrounded him was a fabrication, a mere luxury, an attempt to deter the cognitive dissonance that would prevail in lesser minds. Lorrik knew that he could directly access whatever knowledge the artifact held if he chose to exert the willpower. But he also knew the nature of its creator. More appropriately, he knew next to nothing about him, only that he was conflicted, contradictory, and enigmatic. For all he knew, attempting to dig deeper would yield a threat to his mind on par with that of the Massassi. And even as he continued to ponder, he felt the exhausting influence brought about by his continued connection to the relic.

"Inquiry. What is the name of this holocron's creator?" Lorrik asked, firm in his tone.

"This one does not possess adequate information on this topic," the keeper replied. Despite the lack of information, it was an answer. Lorrik was making progress.

"Inquiry. What is the current age of this holocron?"

"This one does not possess adequate information on this topic."

The inquisitor rubbed his chin, keeping his frustration in check. "Inquiry. List all topics available to keeper."

The robed figure didn't offer an immediate answer, staring off into the distance as it processed the inquiry. "This one has knowledge on one hundred and thirty eight topics. Would you like a full listing?"

Lorrik's eyes sharpened as he stared down the robed figure. "Yes."


	85. 3-09 Pushes

**Chapter Nine: Pushes**

There was only silence as the eight apprentices stood opposite their master atop the all too familiar peak. Once more the students had gathered near the ancient dueling circle at Syrosk's behest, standing beside their partners in a neatly ordered line, each ready for the inevitable task of the day. Though one stood less ready than his fellows.

Taking his usual place at the terminal edge of the lineup, Lorrik stood in a manner deviating from his usual pep and vigor. The Human's garb was disheveled, wrinkles showing through the black fabric of his jacket and pants. His hair had abandoned the recent sleek styling for a more unkempt one. His face looked heavy, a drowsiness readily apparent within his vacant gaze.

"I warned you not to spend too much time with that holocron," Jresh mentally conversed with his partner, his tone not suggesting a great deal of disapproval.

"I'm fine," Lorrik playfully shot back, a sluggishness apparent even in his mental communications. "Even a Sith can be tired now and again, can't he?"

"It is that thing's ability to so easily tire a Sith that has me worried," Jresh replied.

"This is just the result of a bad night's sleep. It happens sometimes when I'm, you know, mentally stimulated."

"Are you sure? You didn't even seem this out of it after spending a night on the ground in the Korriban wastes."

"Hey, if I can put just a few of the things I've learned into practice, it'll more than make for any slight inconvenience experienced on my part," Lorrik explained.

"Don't become so focused on the future that you forget about the present," Jresh advised. "Syrosk has not yet run out of tasks for us, and I doubt it would behoove us to be at anything below peak condition."

"You never know. I mean, what's left to test us on? Can you say with certain clarity that there will never be a trial that requires us to be exhausted beforehand?" Lorrik joked.

The Pureblood let out a soft, brief chuckle. "There isn't an artifact in the galaxy capable of sapping your peculiar wit, is there?"

"What can I say, my mind couldn't care less of my body's conditions sometimes," Lorrik warmly stated. As the pair attempted to retain their stoic facades, they found their internal conversations cut short by the external interruption of their master.

"Students…" Syrosk rasped. "You have each delved into the Valley of Forgotten Lords, and retrieved an item of power. Some of you have already begun to utilize them, some of you have tucked them away for safe keeping. But regardless of your material gains, you each walked away with something of much greater importance. You each are now aware of the special bond that connects you. The bond that permits you a greater understanding of yourselves and your partners. The bond that permits you to surpass what any single apprentice should be capable of. Over the course of these past few months, you each have shown remarkable progress, surpassing even my own expectations. Each and every one of you has faced certain death, and yet here you all are. You have been broken, battered, bruised, and yet you all stand before me seemingly unscathed. You have learned to draw upon your passions to sustain yourselves, to drive yourselves forward. And as a single apprentice, as a single pair has advanced, the others have followed. You have all refused defeat, refused to stall. Even now, none of you have achieved your apex. The nature of your progress can only be contained by the nature of your training. I have done almost all I can, training your bodies, minds, and spirits in ways they would never have been tested otherwise. I have provided you the skillset to become proper Sith, in a world that would deny you such a privilege. But there is a limit to what any single teacher can offer his students, which is why the tenet of succession is so deeply ingrained into the Sith Order. I've no more knowledge to share. I cannot train your minds further nor offer you a deeper connection to the Force. As far as your trials go, there is but one thing I can offer. One last test to administer."

With his gauntleted hand, Syrosk began to remove the same heavy cloak that he always wore over his suit of black, battle-scarred armor. Slipping his arms out from the coat, the alien dropped the heavy black garb, which crumpled into a heap beside his boots. Slowly, Syrosk made his way into the center of the dueling circle and unclipped the lightsaber from his belt. With a flick of his wrist, the crimson blade extended from the black casing of his master's hilt.

"Are you strong enough to challenge a Sith Lord?

The students could only look upon their master with wide eyes as they remained utterly speechless. They had sparred with the Sith Lord on occasion, but only in the controlled environments necessary to propagate proper lightsaber technique. There was always some trick, some restriction, some ploy. Never unbridled combat.

"Curious, usually one of you is so eager to volunteer whenever I have issued a trial," Syrosk rasped. "I suppose I should offer more details. We'll engage in a series of duels, as much as two against one could be referred to as such. Full combat, utilizing the entire repertoire of skills I have imparted unto you all, ending only when one side yields. I reserve the right to end the duel at my discretion, and the duel will immediately end if either member of the pair yields. If you do not succeed, you will have another chance, for this will be tomorrows trial. And the day after's. And the one after that. Until each and every one of you has attained victory over me. How you spend your time between these bouts is up to you. Now, who will be the first to try and best their master?"

Each apprentice was hesitant. As much as they had progressed, none were truly confident in their superiority over their master. At least, not in this time of indetermination. Whoever stepped forward would be the first to experience the unshackled might of the Sith Lord. Despite his age, despite his reserved presence, there was an undeniable power lurking within the armor-clad alien.

But for some, straddling the line between knowledge and uncertainty fell far short of their inherent pride. Nesk and Vurt were the first to step forward, without a word, merely offering a dutiful nod to their master as they approached the dueling circle. Neither the Trandoshan nor the Nikto wielded one of the ancient dueling swords they had procured from the tomb the day before. Instead, it appeared to be business as usual, Nesk garbed in his armorweave bodysuit, Nesk in his perfectly black, formfitting robes.

Within the confines of the dueling circle, they drew their lightsabers as Syrosk situated himself at the opposite side of the confined arena. The warrior gripped the grey hilt within his clawed digits, the lightsaber's pommel capped with the claw of some fallen foe. The inquisitor's saber was something of an abnormality for his designation, the silver hilt possessing a slight curvature indicative of a duelist's weapon. From both sprung red blades of superheated plasma.

The three figures readied themselves, each adopting their preferred stances. Nesk kept his guard high and open, while his partner went low and closed. Syrosk kept his movements to a minimum, allowing himself to change and shift and he saw fit. The subtle whistle of the passing winds quieted and stalled, as if actively trying to avoid interfering with the powerful figures that prepared to do battle.

"Begin," Syrosk declared.

The apprentices where the first to move, starting the duel on their own terms. Nesk stormed toward the Sith Lord, Vurt following closely behind. As large and physically dominating as the Trandoshan was, Syrosk would not be overcome easily. The advantage of height he possessed against the other students was absent, the armored Lord almost matching him in stature.

The gap was closed almost instantaneously, the warrior lashing out with a heavy overhead strike. With a speed and grace unbefitting the aged and armored master, Syrosk deflected the strike. Rather than follow up, Nesk traveled with the deflection, Vurt soon taking his old place. The Nikto offered an efficient thrust of his saber's tip toward the Lord's midsection, only for Syrosk to sidestep it completely. With the swing of his free hand, the Lord swatted the air itself, releasing a swift but powerful Force wave that shoved the inquisitor away.

Whilst Vurt recovered, his master did battle with the Trandoshan, matching the lizard's strength blow for blow. The students on the sidelines could only watch with utter fascination. What unfolded before them put any of the previous bouts they may have observed in their previous months to shame. Their master displayed an uncanny martial ability they had not thought him capable of, not ceding an inch of ground to even the most powerful of strikes, and possessing the speed and dexterity to intercept blows from any direction.

But besides their wonder toward their master's lightsaber skills, was the intrigue in watching their fellow apprentices do combat. They had expected a fair display of technique and prowess, but never truly expected anything approaching the level of martial discipline they were currently displaying. There was focus behind the Trandoshan's wild, ferocious strikes. There was a dedication behind the Nikto's carefully calculated maneuvers. While the two appeared to utilize opposite styles, there was a synchronicity between them. They played off of one another. To the layman, it may have appeared to be the muddling of two vastly different combat styles. To the other students, however, it was a remarkable show of cooperation. What should have been a dissonant pairing had achieved a mutual cadence.

But as much as they had advanced, as in synch as they were, the skills possessed by their master proved indomitable. There was no separation between the Sith Lord's body, mind, or spirit. There was never a moment in which he was unaware of his opponents' positioning, their movements. He simultaneously wielded his lightsaber and the Force in a manner that still managed to astound the watching apprentices. He would hold the attention of a single duelist before effortlessly turning his attention to the other, switching back and forth without error.

They students on the sidelines could have watched the magnificent display all day, but as the seconds passed, it became readily apparent that the Sith Lord was gaining the advantage. In the midst of their battle, one of the apprentices would slip up and be violently tossed to the ground. Whilst Syrosk perpetually endured, Nesk and Vurt grew more and more tired. While it wasn't readily apparent in the warrior's action, it was in his technique. The Trandoshan still lashed out with the ferocity typical of his combative form, but he became more and more untamed, driven by pure emotion rather than skill. Slowly, the pair began to slip out of synch, and Syrosk was able to bring the duel to a close.

Nesk released one last swing of his saber before the Sith Lord intercepted him, gripping the bare wrist of his saber hand. With a clench of his gauntleted fist, Syrosk forced a harsh snarl from the lizard as he was forced to let go of his weapon, it's crimson blade deactivating as the hilt struck the ground. Vurt meanwhile approached his master's unguarded back, only to find himself interrupted by Syrosk directing the tip of his lightsaber toward the Nikto's neck.

The Sith Lord had both students at his mercy. Though nothing stopped the Nikto from acting, Vurt offered a cold nod to his master, deactivating his saber and returning it to his belt. Syrosk offered a nod of his own, releasing his grip on the Trandoshan's wrist and disengaging. Nesk stretched his clawed digits as he regained control of his hand, before retrieving his weapon from the ground. Together, the two apprentices made their way back to the sidelines in silence.

The others accepted them back into their fold without a word or errant glance. Their attention was too focused on their master, who stood none the worse for wear. The first challengers hadn't managed to land a single complete blow against the Sith Lord, and he had yet to display a single sign of exhaustion.

"Who's next?" Syrosk rasped. The same hesitance as before managed to persist, but eventually Isorr and Arlia stepped forward to challenge their master. As the next pair made their way toward the dueling circle, the previously dulled expression that dominated Lorrik's face had been all but expunged. In its place, however, was one of creeping worry.

"Lorrik," Jresh mentally called out to his companion. He received no reply. He tried again, to no avail, choosing eventually to whisper to his partner. "Lorrik, are you okay?"

The Human shook his head as he tried to regain his senses, rubbing his eyes and furrowing his brow. "I daresay we may be in trouble," Lorrik mentally conversed.

"This will merely be our first of many inevitable attempts," Jresh explained. "We needn't prove anything today. We'll play things carefully for now. Let me take the lead, don't take any big risks, we'll get through the day and prepare for the next."

"Alright," Lorrik hesitantly agreed, letting out a depressed sigh. He hated himself for what he had done. He had focused too much of his attention on the holocron, blinding himself to everything else. He wanted to believe it was all for the good of the partnership, but realized it was selfishness that pushed him deeper. Where there was knowledge, he felt the need to consume it.

And now, his mind and body taxed, he had denied himself and Jresh something pivotal. The chance to once and for all prove themselves to their master. To prove their superiority. But in his exhausted state, Lorrik knew he could only work to his companion's detriment in combat. As he watched Isorr and Arlia ready themselves, he focused every fiber of his being into recovering from the stupor wrought by his overextended studies.

Isorr and Arlia took their places opposite Syrosk. The warrior removed his out cloak and tossed to the sidelines, revealing the heavy-duty armorweave that protected his entire body below the neck. The inquisitor meanwhile was content with her mix of form-fitting and gracefully flowing robes. Whilst her partner possessed a typical Sith's lightsaber, she had made recent modifications to hers. Replacing its crystal with one procured the previous day's venture, the hilt produce a radiant beam of purple energy. Meanwhile, there was an audible expression of envy from one of the students watching from the sidelines.

"Begin," Syrosk declared.

Isorr and Arlia charged into battle with a strategic caution, attempting to calculate and measure each and every movement they made. The two students utilized almost identical styles, despite the vast differences in their physique, demeanor, and craft. The two challengers exhibited almost perfect balance in their combat methodology, keeping up with their master in matters of both offense and defense. Alongside powerful and elegant saberwork, each combatant would lash out with the Force, waves of telekinetic energy kicking up dust and shaking the ground itself.

But the battle would progress in a similar manner to the first, the two apprentices putting on an astounding display of skill that would ultimately prove insufficient in overcoming their master's overall prowess. The battle went on longer than the previous one, but only by nature of the apprentices' caution. They realized the threat their master posed, and for the first time, fought with the intention of prolonging their bout. But such intentions couldn't hold up against the Sith Lord's willingness to bring about a swift end should he so choose. All it took was for him to dominate a single combatant, and force the other into submission.

Eventually, the pair stayed down after being knocked to the ground, having reached their limits. Syrosk showed no signs of approval or disapproval, only a willingness to continue. Isorr and Arlia took their place on the sidelines, Kar'ai volunteering herself and her partner for the next bout.

As Lorrik watched the pair proceed into the dueling circle, he knew that there would be no more delays. He and Jresh would face their master next. Still he had not yet overcome the peculiar exhaustion that plagued his body and mind. While he was capable of fighting in such a condition, the Human was wary of the potential outcomes. One slip up, one mistake, even in training, could lead to serious injury. Syrosk expected a certain level of skill from him, and would fight according to that expectation.

Kar'ai and Ryloh took their spot within the dueling circle, the warrior standing tall and at the ready, the inquisitor lurking at her flank. The pair had left their artifact behind, showing up in their usual garb, wielding their usual lightsabers. The blades of crimson extended, and the match was ready to proceed.

"Begin," Syrosk rasped.

Kar'ai immediately charged into battle while her companion stayed behind. Her torso only lightly covered, the Rattataki relied solely on her dexterity and skills with a saber to aid in her defense. The warrior was capable of outmatching the Sith Lord in speed, but Syrosk proved an indomitable opponent. Her masterful application of acrobatics and movement prove insufficient in breaching her master's defenses.

And while the duel would not prove to last as long as the previous one, it would hold the honor of testing the Sith Lord. To the surprise of those watching from the sidelines, during the middle of the bout, Ryloh relinquished control of his saber, tossing it across the arena. But its release was not intended to strike the Sith Lord. Instead, Kar'ai intercepted the flying hilt, taking hold of it in her offhand. Saber in both hands, the warrior lashed out with a flurry of blows that surprised even Syrosk. Ryloh, meanwhile, kept to the outer fringes of the dueling circle, releasing a series of Force attacks, telekinetic waves intended to upset the Sith Lord's balance, and even the occasional quick bolt of lightning arcing from the inquisitor's fingertips.

Ryloh had proven himself capable of a multitude of techniques, while his companion utilized her weapons mastery. It was an astounding display, one that sufficiently entertained those who watched close by. But despite how intriguing a show it was, eventually Syrosk would prove his superiority. Kar'ai would tire and slow. Ryloh would find himself dragged into the fold. The warrior's blades would be deflected. The inquisitor's lightning would be absorbed. And eventually, the pair would concede.

The opposing parties parted without a word, Kar'ai and Ryloh taking their place on the sidelines. Time was up. All eyes fell upon the remaining pair. Lorrik and Jresh shared a look. As they looked into each other's eyes, the Human had a curious feeling. He had expected some measure of disapproval from his companion, some part of him that would be disappointed in his actions. But he found none. Only the same enduring stoicism was present in the Pureblood's visage.

Jresh was willing to fight alongside his partner no matter the circumstances. And it was this revelation that wiped away the doubt within Lorrik. He was still exhausted, but he knew that he was capable of moving forward, so long as Jresh was by his side. They believed in one another, and trusted in those beliefs.

With mutual nods, the two apprentices stepped forward, ready to challenge their master.


	86. 3-10 Choices

**Chapter Ten: Choices**

Lorrik and Jresh made their way toward the dueling circle. There were no words. No thoughts. Only the simple pattering of feet against solid stone. The time for doubts or regret had passed. All that mattered now was action. The last two apprentices walked side by side, their master's enduringly cold stare following them at every moment. The pair came to a stop a few meters away from the patient Sith Lord.

Even after three bouts, their master looked as ready as ever to continue. His stance was adamant, and his face was resolute. The students could only look upon their Lord with a newfound respect. He possessed a certain level of skill, and deemed them worthy of its witnessing. And now, it was Jresh and Lorrik's turn to witness it firsthand. Their master readied his lightsaber, and the apprentices did the same.

Jresh retrieved the black hilt from his belt. It was utterly smooth aside from the clip near its base. Without an external activator, it was the ultimate expression of a personalized weapon. Its usage was dependent on the user's ability to locate and telekinetically activate an internal mechanism. Jresh's lightsaber was simultaneously the embodiment of simplicity and complexity, something he himself set out to accomplish.

As his partner's crimson blade shined, the inquisitor readied his own weapon, producing the nonstandard blue beam. The pair was ready. At least, as ready as they could be. The Human and Pureblood adopted their battle stances, raising their guards and preparing their bodies and minds. Jresh kept a firm two-handed grip on his weapon, whilst Lorrik kept a free hand ready to channel the Force.

Both apprentices' saber styles focused on defense, but after seeing what their master was capable of, they knew that attempting to outlast the Sith Lord would prove challenging. But Sith aren't ones to shy away from a challenge. Lorrik could feel the subtle anticipation brewing within his partner. His wounds had only just healed, and his armor still bore the scratches and scars from his previous battle, but still he relished the challenge. He was confident, stalwart, and enduring. Things that in that moment, Lorrik wished he was.

"Begin," Syrosk rasped.

The warrior had not broken eye contact with his master since he first entered the dueling circle, and didn't break it as he charged forward. Syrosk didn't move as the warrior fast approached, except to slightly shift his right leg back, digging himself into the ground. The Pureblood tightened his grip, raising his blade high as the gap between him and his opponent closed. Jresh brought down a powerful diagonal slash, and Syrosk replied with its exact counter.

The two connected, and for a brief moment, everything stalled. The wind ceased to blow. Every particulate of dust previously kicked up froze in place. The scene was suspended, frozen in time. And for the briefest of moments, the mountaintop was locked in an expression of serenity. One swiftly broken by the ensuing chaos.

Radiating from where the two figures clashed, a powerful Force wave pushed outward, shaking the very ground that rest beneath them. The wave washed over the other students rattling their clothes and kicking dust into their eyes. Lorrik himself was momentarily stunned as he stood near the dueling circle's edge. He was astounded by his partner's power, his ability to channel the Force through martial combat. It wasn't a manifestation of wisdom, but the purest expression of a natural affinity. The body and spirit were not only connected, they were beginning to merge.

As evenly matched as the initial connection was, Syrosk would not let it remain that way for long. The Sith Lord pulled his blade back before delivering a series of powerful swings toward the Pureblood. The warrior defended, but the utter strength behind each swing began to drive him backward, step by step. Lorrik could sense his partner becoming overcome. He knew he had to act, regardless of his own well-being.

The inquisitor sought to intervene, reinforcing his companion's flank. With three blades of superheated plasma swinging in such close proximity, total situational awareness was required. Lorrik moved in alongside his partner, the two moving without a single misstep between them. The two ducked and weaved, lashing out at their master. He in turn, effortlessly defended against his two apprentices.

The Pureblood was adamant and precise. The Human, however, was hesitant, light on his feet. While he focused his blade toward Jresh, Syrosk turned his free hand toward the inquisitor. Lorrik swung his weapon, and his master snatched it with the Force. Rather than find his blow redirected, it was hyperextended, swinging fast and wide and out of his control. His partner was out of harm's way, but in his unwillingness to relinquish control of his saber, he followed the motion of his swing, stumbling away from the conflict. His back turned, Lorrik should have immediately remedied his stance, regained control, but he didn't. His altered state was becoming more apparent with each passing moment.

Jresh saw his partner stumble and moved to hold his opponent's attention, pressing the attack. The Pureblood was now on the offense, but he seemed to be making little progress in breaching the Sith Lord's defenses. Regardless of his capability, he knew he had to give Lorrik time to recover. He willingly thrust himself into harm's way, placing himself between his master and his partner.

The two melee combatants traded blows, the power behind each strike never lessening. Lorrik steadied himself as the exchange continued a few steps away. He thought to intercede, but was hesitant. The combined efforts of himself and his partner had been unable to surpass the skills of their master. The inquisitor had begun to believe his presence a hindrance rather than a boon. They had not achieved the same synchronization as Nesk and Vurt. They were not as evenly balanced as Isorr and Arlia. He could not summon lightning without utter concentration. He was beginning to question his reason for being there.

Syrosk swung his blade in a wide arc, coupling it with a powerful telekinetic wave. Jresh braced himself, blocking the blade with his own, but the following wave that washed over him shoved him back. Lorrik could only watch as his partner kept his composure even in the heat of battle against an insurmountable foe. He saw that the Pureblood was powerful, determined. Something he wasn't. Something he could never be. He had nothing to offer. He had no place amongst his betters. He was worthless.

Then, in the midst of battle, did the inquisitor truly take pause. This wasn't him. These weren't his thoughts. He had faced what ought to have been certain death, only to walk away unscathed. He had conquered doubt, conquered fear. He realized his mind wasn't only exhausted, it had been poisoned. He would have none of it.

Lorrik moved in to intercept his advancing master. Taking over for Jresh, the Human pressed the assault. His opponent was unshakable, but he didn't care. His mind was betraying him, so he had to abandon it. He let his spirit guide him, relying on nothing more than the purest instincts to drive his motions. The inquisitor faced off against his master, blade against blade, delivering a few strikes before backing away, allowing Jresh to take his place.

The two apprentices combatted with their master, trading blows, making full use of the dueling circle's area. The three figures darted across the mountaintop, the apprentices sharing their master's attention equally. Seconds passed. Then minutes. The two apprentices were fast approaching the amount of time Arlia and Isorr had lasted. And just like them, their bodies were reaching their limits. Jresh found himself driven back more and more by his master's strikes. Lorrik found himself barely able to escape the reach of his blade. But still they persisted, neither willing to concede.

Just as their bodies were reaching their limits, an odd opportunity had presented itself. Syrosk had set his eyes on the inquisitor, determining that it was time to bring the duel to a close. The Lord battered the inquisitor's guard, delivering a series of powerful strikes one right after another. As the Human was slowly driven back, he found his arms growing weaker, his legs following soon after. Soon, his stance crumbled and he found himself on his knees, struggling to defend against the assault beating down upon him.

But Syrosk's endeavor to end the duel was miscalculated. The Human should have been upon the ground by now, defeated. While he would not last much longer, he lasted just long enough to make his master regret turning his back on the warrior. The Pureblood would not idly sit back while his partner was in danger. Toward the Sith Lord's flank he charged, raising his saber high, ready to bring his cascading blade down upon his master.

Syrosk sensed the warrior's approach. Tearing his attention away to face the Pureblood, the Lord was shocked to see that he was already upon him. He couldn't raise his blade fast enough to intercept the saber heading straight for his face. He stumbled, falling backward toward the kneeling inquisitor. In a moment of desperation, Syrosk flung his hands outward without style or form, releasing a powerful telekinetic surge. The Force wave crashed into the warrior, sending him flying as the Sith Lord almost fell upon his other apprentice.

Lorrik rolled out of the way of his falling master, only to bear witness to his companion's treacherous flight. Time almost stood still as he saw his partner heading over the cliff's edge. The Pureblood could do nothing to prevent his inevitable departure from the mountain peak. But Lorrik could.

Still driven purely by instinct, Lorrik acted without thought, without hesitation. He only sought to pull his companion back to safety. Lorrik released his grip on his lightsaber, instead thrusting his right hand toward his partner, clutching and clawing at the air in front of him. He expected to get a telekinetic grip on Jresh's body, just enough of one to prevent him from going over the cliff. But it never manifested. Something else, however, did. A mysterious feeling was welling up within the inquisitor's body. Some cold, dark energy flowed through him, looking for some way to escape. The Human was trapped in the instant, no longer in control of his body.

His right hand extended, what emerged from his palm wasn't an invisible manifestation of the Force, but something much, much darker. Shadows given form began to spread out from his palm and encapsulate his hand. The flowing ichor pulsated and writhed, black tendrils rising from his flesh. Tenebrous ropes of dark side energy sprung from the inquisitor's hand, stretching across the stilled scene. The black whips surged forward, wrapping themselves around Jresh's left leg.

His companion now firmly within his grasp, Lorrik pulled his shadowed hand back, tugging upon the airborne Pureblood. The warrior's flight was halted, and his path redirected back toward the dueling circle. Jresh's body crashed onto the hard surface of the mountain peak, but it was a tolerable impact compared to what would have greeted him at the foot of the mountain.

The dark tendrils that connected the two apprentices released their grip and dissolved into a fine mist before disappearing completely. Only just now was Lorrik beginning to comprehend what exactly had taken place. He stared at his right hand, the shadows having receded. What they left in their place was pale flesh and a palm blackened, cracked, and charred. All of which was numb.

"It's over! The duel is off!" Syrosk declared with an unfamiliar volume and expressiveness. The Sith Lord's speech seemed almost worried. Regaining his senses, Lorrik looked up to see the other students rushing toward his fallen companion, Syrosk already kneeling by his side. Lorrik shook his head, trying to snap himself out of the stupor he found himself in.

The inquisitor raised himself from the ground and rushed toward Jresh, not even bothering to retrieve his weapon. As he approached, he heard soft whispers emanate from the students that circled around his partner. More predominantly, though, was the harsh sound of Jresh howling in pain. Lorrik closed in, pushing his way past the other apprentices, only to see his companion clutching at his leg. The eye was immediately drawn to the warrior's left foot.

There were several deep gashes where the dark tendrils had wrapped themselves. They had managed to encircle the Pureblood's foot, burn their way through the armored boot, and char the flesh beneath. The garish wounds he had inflicted upon his companion horrified the Human. His eyes began to dart up and down the warrior, from who he had never heard such cries before. His breaths began to quicken, and beads of sweat began to form upon his brow.

Lorrik lifted his gaze to see the other apprentices staring at him, each unsure of how to process what had transpired. A knot began to form within the inquisitor's stomach. A coldness began to brew within, a void taking hold of his insides. His senses began to fade. His body felt numb. The whispers grew quiet. His vision darkened. The Human thought to speak, but the only thing to flow from his mouth was blood.

And an instant later, he collapsed.

* * *

Nothing. Nothing as far as the eye could see. A blindingly white void. Lorrik lied upon his back, staring up into the nothingness. Unable to move. Unable to speak. He was numb. He was empty. He was nothing.

However, he was not alone. A dark figure stood over him, clad in black robes, a hood raised over his head. As the figure leaned over to reveal his face, it was the last person Lorrik expected. Himself. The dark caricature of himself. The two locked eyes, reveling in the silence. Lorrik was unable to object, to say or do anything. All he could do was wait for the figure to break his silence.

"I see you've finally made your choice," the dark figure said.

Lorrik wanted to get up, to look around for any signs of his light counterpart. But it was useless. All he could do was lie there whilst the figure walked away. Before he could further dwell on his situation, the surface beneath him began to stir. The subtle vibrations soon turned to a violent quake. The white surface he rested upon began to crack and warp. Suddenly, the floor collapsed, and the Human fell through, into the darkness that dwelled beneath it.

The infinite pool of blackness. Dark waters that clutched at the inquisitor, dragging him deeper and deeper. Encircling him and crushing him under its oppressive weight. As he sank ever deeper, the light that existed beyond the pool's surface began to fade, until there was nothing but blackness. He was blinded by the opaque waters, unable to move, unable to breath. But it mattered not. He was already dead.

But before the darkness could consume him, a light began to shine. Not one of hope. Not one of safety. The light began to expand, wiping away the smoky waters. It brought with it a vision. Lorrik no longer floated, but instead looked upon an expanding scene of destruction.

He stood amongst twisted metal, surrounded by towering buildings and a sky embroiled in flames. A proud figure walked amongst the countless fallen. A Sith. A single, solitary Sith. Human. Aged. Wrapped in black. Eyes of gold. Hands embracing an amulet that rest around his neck, glowing red and pulsing in sync with his own heart. A picture of destruction. Of victory. And just as soon as the image had formed, it had faded, the darkness clouding Lorrik's vision once again.

He was once more alone with the darkness. The unforgiving, crushing darkness. But just as he was about to succumb to the black waters, he felt something. Something strong enough to overcome the overwhelming numbness that prevailed in his body. The tight grip around his wrist. The soft whisper in his ear.

"Lorrik… Lorrik…"

It was the voice he was most familiar with. The one most pleasant to his ears. The one of his partner, his companion. He could hear him softly calling to him. Feel his presence. It was an uplifting feeling, one strong enough to conquer the oppressive darkness. No longer did he sink. No longer did he despair. No longer was he numb. No longer did he not feel safe.

* * *

Opening his eyes, Lorrik found himself resting in bed. An unfamiliar bed. One surrounded by various medical equipment and an immersive kolto tank. Various sensors monitored his life signs and relayed them back to him. He was alive, resting within an Academy medical bay. But more importantly, sitting to the left of his bed was Jresh. The Pureblood was asleep at his bedside, resting his head against the Human's leg, hands enveloping the Human's wrist.

Lorrik smiled and moved his free hand to stroke his companion's head, only to find it entirely wrapped in bandages. He stared at the white wrappings, subtly bending and articulating his fingers. Even as its parts moved, the hand felt cold and foreign. But he none the less was alive, with his partner by his side.

And in that moment, there was no place he'd rather be.


	87. 3-11 Visitors

**Chapter Eleven: Visitors**

The room was quiet. Serene. There had never been much to the Academy's medical facilities. Treatments were reserved for faculty, staff, and security. Students could only expect the most basic triage. Acolytes were expected to prove themselves against the dangers of Korriban, and it's hard for the overseers to send them to their deaths when they have a steady supply of kolto.

But the room Lorrik found himself in was not meant for a student, especially one who hadn't even been admitted to the Academy proper. The structural design and the equipment it housed suggested he was in an area near the apprentices' suites. And like the suites, Lorrik knew he was there at his master's behest.

As his senses returned to him, the inquisitor's overall stupor began to fade. And as it left him, a pain began to surface. What began as a feeling of hunger quickly turned into a sharp churning of his insides. As the pain persisted, Lorrik cringed, involuntarily shifting his legs. The resting Pureblood immediately stirred from his resting place, raising himself from his seat and talking hold of his partner's shoulders.

"Lorrik! You're awake! Are you okay?" Jresh hastily asked, shifting from surprise to excitement to concern in the span of a few seconds. Lorrik's hands clutched at his gut as the pain slowly lessened, but never totally disappeared.

"Yeah, I'm… okay," Lorrik replied, not entirely sure of his answer.

"You had us worried," Jresh stated, calming himself and slowly lowering himself back to his bedside seat. Though he had resumed his usual stoicism, not was all right in the Pureblood's eyes. His usual rigid and upright stance was lax as his head hung low.

The Human chuckled. "I'm sorry if I gave you a scare. To be fair, you had me worried too. But look, we're both fine now."

"Lorrik… that was five days ago," Jresh hesitantly explained.

"Heh… good one," Lorrik dismissed with another chuckle. As he continued to stare into his companion's eyes, he slowly realized the Pureblood's seriousness. Panning his gaze up and down, Lorrik only now noticed that Jresh had exchanged his battle attire for a set of casual robes. The inquisitor sank in his bed, staring blankly into the distance as his head fell to his pillow. "Five days? What happened after I blacked out?

"Syrosk carried you back to the Academy, managed to secure you this room," Jresh answered.

"I guess he isn't as detached as he says he is. So much for not caring if any of us die."

"Here's the thing, the Academy staff declared you dead on arrival," Jresh explained, almost whispering. "You weren't breathing. You had no pulse. Even Syrosk couldn't sense any part of your mind. Everyone thought you were gone. Everyone except me."

"Were you awake? Last I saw you were… screaming in pain," Lorrik stated, a subtle whimper in his voice.

"It was nothing," Jresh firmly said. "Pain fades. But as I was treated, I saw the medical staff giving up on you. They thought you dead, but I knew better. I could still sense your presence, however faint it was. I sensed your pain. Your numbness. I knew whatever transpired had taken its toll on your body, but you were not beyond saving."

Lorrik rested in silence, expressionless eyes still transfixed upon some distant spot on the far wall. Eventually he muttered, "If it weren't for you… I'd be dead."

"My part was insignificant, it was your strength that allowed you to pull through," Jresh assuaged.

"No. No it wasn't. The only reason I'm alive right now is because of our bond. Through the Force, our lives are interconnected."

"That's truly remarkable," Jresh admitted, unaware such a thing was possible.

"Yeah… remarkable," Lorrik replied, lacking any modicum of enthusiasm.

"Did I forget to mention you've just come back from the dead? You seem rather displeased."

"None of this this should have ever happened in the first place. I tapped into something beyond my control, and I was punished for it. And now you share that punishment. That… power… consumed parts of me, parts of you."

"I already told you that you needn't worry about me," Jresh reminded. "Wounds heal."

"Physical wounds, yes. I don't know about these," Lorrik admitted. "That was pure dark side energy, from a technique I hadn't even realized I learned, from a holocron that almost broke my mind. I should have been able to predict this. But I let my lust for knowledge take control. I wanted to win, no matter the cost. I wanted to prove myself to Syrosk, the other students… and most of all, you. I didn't want to be a disgrace during our first genuine bout with the master. I thought I was above that petty Sith nonsense… I guess not."

The two apprentices heads dipped as the room was consumed by silence. For the first time, Lorrik had been utterly defeated. Jresh saw no vestige of his companion's usual light. It had been darkened. Smothered. No more optimism. No more persistence. No more vigor. And the only person Jresh knew could lift someone from this state, was the afflicted himself.

"Lorrik. This is not the first challenged we've faced. And it will not be the last. We'll get through this and move forward, just as we always do," Jresh declared.

"This is different. This isn't something we can just casually overcome," Lorrik muttered, turning his gaze toward his bandaged right hand. "What's happened… what I've done… I don't know if we-"

"It's in the past. Our pasts are merely a sequence of events that shape our path. They don't define it. And they certainly don't define us," Jresh recited as he lifted himself from his bedside seat. "Get some rest, I'm sure everyone will want to know that you're awake."

The Pureblood laid a comforting hand on his partner's wrist one final time before heading toward the exit. As Lorrik lifted his gaze he was greeted with the disconcerting sight of his companion's gait. The physicality of his left foot was covered with garb, but the pain wrought with each step was readily apparent. Lorrik realized that he was responsible for the most lasting wound Jresh had ever suffered.

The inquisitor's heart sunk. He had caused irreparable damage to both himself and his partner. With a deep sigh, Lorrik was alone, accompanied only by silence and his own thoughts. Thoughts that were almost universally directed toward his injured hand. The Human stared at the wrapping, contorting his covered fingers. He moved his free hand toward his forearm, scratching at the skin that bordered the bandages. Scratching turned to searching, and the inquisitor looked for a way to undo his wrappings. Starting at the base, he began to unfasten and unroll the fabric, working his way upward toward his hand. As more and more flesh was revealed, he saw a paleness begin to emerge. Paleness which eventually turned to calloused and cracked skin.

His hand fully revealed, Lorrik saw that he had suffered no ordinary wound. Dark lines were visible under his skin, branching and converging toward his fingers. But the most disconcerting thing of all rested in the palm of his hand. A large blot covered the interior of his hand. Not a scab, but a tainted blackness that appeared to have emerged from within.

As Lorrik rested in his bed, he couldn't take his eyes off of the injured hand. Calming himself, he attempted to focus his mind. It was a wound. Wounds could be healed. The inquisitor attempted to channel healing energies through his right hand to no effect. It refused to shine with the usual radiant light, and no matter how hard he tried, it remained as pale and blackened as ever. Taking his mind off the injury, Lorrik tried the same with his other hand. He delighted as he saw his left hand glow with a soft light. With a deep breath, he guided it toward his injured hand, but the instant they touched, he experienced a sharp pain unlike any other. What was once numb reacted violently to the healing energies, forcing the Human to withdraw his other hand. As the pain subsided, Lorrik saw that his effort were for naught.

The inquisitor's head sunk into its pillow as he rubbed his eyes with his normal hand, the other falling to his side. As the minutes passed, Lorrik sat in silence, trying his hardest to cull the thoughts brewing in his mind.

The silence persisted until there was a knock on the wall near the room's entrance. Lorrik perked up to see Ryloh standing in the doorway. He waved the Twi'lek in, who took a seat in the bedside chair. The other inquisitor's blue face attempted to convey a sense of comfort, but there was an underlying concern in his eyes.

"How are you doing, Lorrik?" Ryloh asked.

"I'm… fine," Lorrik answered.

"No… you're not," Ryloh corrected. The Twi'lek tried to force a smile. "Remember, I've been in your position before. Out in the wastes, sacrificing my body and mind for the sake of my partner. You know, I never got around to thanking you."

"For what?"

"For not telling Kar'ai the… details of what I did out there," Ryloh clarified. "I wanted to tell her myself after we returned to the Academy. Didn't want her to worry before we were safe."

"How did she take it?" Lorrik asked.

"She was… surprised. She wasn't used to other people going through so much for her benefit. We're not really conditioned to appreciate sacrifice, are we? She chastised me, said I never should have done that, but eventually we both came to terms with what happened. She thought she owed me something, took a while to convince her she didn't. But in the end, we were closer because of it."

"So what are you saying, everything's going to be just fine?" Lorrik muttered.

"No, it won't. We both know we abandoned any hope of normalcy long ago. To this day, my mind has not fully recovered. I still suffer from bouts of pain, confusion, disorientation. But not for a moment do I regret my actions. I took on that pain because I knew it would spare Kar'ai."

"And what if you discovered you didn't spare her that pain? That despite all your sacrifice, you ended up making things worse?" Lorrik asked.

"Then I would endure until I set things right," Ryloh answered.

"And what if things couldn't be set right?"

"All things can be mended with time," Ryloh declared as he raised himself from his seat. "It's simply the nature of the mending that must adapt."

As he exited the room, he shot the Human a quick smile before nodding toward the hall beyond the entrance. As Ryloh exited, his partner Kar'ai took his place, entering and approaching the inquisitor's bed. She took a seat beside the inquisitor, locking her eyes with his.

"Lorrik," she spoke up,

"Kar'ai," Lorrik shot back.

"So you're finally up… relatively speaking," Kar'ai joked, an awkward chuckle punctuating the Rattataki's words. "You know, we were genuinely worried that you had died. All of us, even the less than pleasant apprentices. Are you doing okay?"

"Well, aside from my insides being rearranged, and my hand…"

"I meant emotionally," Kar'ai corrected.

"I don't know. And I didn't think you'd be the one to care," Lorrik admitted.

"That's understandable. You know how us warriors are," Kar'ai stated. "I guess this is coming from a place of empathy. I think I understand some of the things you're going through."

"Do you?"

"The feeling of guilt, the feeling of hopelessness, the feeling that you should have been able to do more, do it better, do anything to change what had happened. Am I that far off?"

"I suppose not," Lorrik quietly admitted. "So you've come to terms with what Ryloh did?"

"Crippling himself with pain so that I wouldn't have to suffer through your healing methods? I guess I have. To be honest, I was furious with him when he told me. 'How could he put himself through that for me'? 'Why is he suffering when I'm perfectly fine'? Things you think are going through your partner's head right now. You think you've burdened him with something."

"Who's to say I haven't?" Lorrik stated. "This entire situation is my fault. It all could have been prevented if I had bothered to think for even a moment. Now I owe him my life and all he has to show for it is the loss of a functional leg."

"We've been here, what, a decade? You've been partners with Jresh for almost two years now? Tell me, after all this time, how could you have forgotten something so simple? The fact that Jresh is a warrior."

"I have not forgotten," Lorrik muttered.

"You haven't? Then you know that he doesn't care about pain. He doesn't care about injuries. Warriors care about one thing, and one thing only, and use their passion toward that thing to drive them forward regardless of whatever obstacles try to impede them. To give those obstacles a second thought, would be unbefitting a warrior. You could take so much away from him, and he would still only care about that one thing. No matter what happens, no matter what you do, you cannot stop him. If you knock him down, it's up to you whether or not to pick him back up, but he will eventually rise, with or without you. But knowing Jresh, I think he'd vastly prefer it to be with you."

Lorrik offered a solemn nod as Kar'ai raised herself from her seat. "I want to thank you and Ryloh for stopping by."

"No problem, Lorrik," Kar'ai declared as she headed out of the room. "But we're not the only ones who came to see you."

Without another word, the Rattataki exited, leaving a puzzled Human sitting in his bed. A few seconds later, however, and two new figures entered the room. Isorr and Arlia. The Zabrak and Twi'lek approached the Human, opting to stand, leaning casually against the wall nearest the patient.

"Didn't expect to see you here," Lorrik admitted.

"We could say the same," Arlia joked. "We all thought you were dead. Well, all except Jresh. But then Ryloh starts trusting what your partner says, then Kar'ai starts believing him as well. Then Syrosk thinks you can be saved, so he dunks you in the kolto tank. Of course, your injuries were mostly internal so it required full immersion, but then again you weren't using your lungs anyway."

"Well, that's always nice to hear," Lorrik muttered.

"You know, you're going to have to teach me that technique sometime. Never seen anything like it," Arlia admitted, genuinely intrigued.

"To be honest, neither have I. But I'd avoid it if I were you. Rather unpleasant," Lorrik admitted, raising his right hand. The two visitors look at the injured hand with wide eyes.

"I must say, Lorrik, I am impressed," Isorr spoke up. "I'd wager even Syrosk isn't capable of conjuring such power."

"Given my current state, I'd say neither am I," Lorrik stated. "It was more than my body could handle, and parts of it were consumed in the process."

"Altered, not consumed," Isorr offered. "The Sith are dynamic. That is what your partner once told me. Change in is the nature of the dark side, and it is in our nature as Sith to control it. You displayed great power, and have earned our respect for it."

"Power? I crippled Jresh and left some of my insides out there on the dueling circle. You call that power?"

"I call it potential," Isorr declared. "Potential I did not think you possessed prior."

"You stop by to say all this?" Lorrik asked.

"To tell you the truth, Jresh asked us, well, told us to visit you," Arlia informed. "We thought to object, but then again, we had nothing else to do. Our studies sort of hit a roadblock after your little ordeal."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, Syrosk hasn't emerged from his quarters since he dropped you off here," Arlia explained. "We've taken the initiative to meet up ourselves, us and the other students, have some light duels…"

"Jresh spent most of his time in here with you," Isorr added. "Although he did manage show up for the second day."

"You mean he was in fighting condition?" Lorrik asked, the most interested he had been all day.

"Turns out kolto can't fully heal whatever it is that happened to you and him," Arlia explained. "They took you out of the tank after you showed little improvement. Jresh though, he up and walked out of here after his first day of treatment. He favored the other leg but managed to do just as well in our practice bouts. Even Isorr couldn't beat him."

"They were practice bouts, it wasn't about winning," Isorr hastily defended. "Without training sabers, we seem to be a bit more cautious with one another…"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Arlia said, digging her elbow into her partner's side.

"Wait, so what has Syrosk been doing these past few days?" Lorrik asked.

"Honestly, we're not sure," Arlia admitted. "Maybe he'll emerge now that you're awake."

"Hopefully. I'll not see my training stalled because this one refuses to get up," Isorr declared.

"Ah, there's the Isorr we know and love," Lorrik joked, regaining some of his usual vigor. "Well, as awkward as this must have been for you, I appreciate the visit."

"Oh, if you think this was awkward," Arlia chuckled as the two made their way out. Lorrik responded with the quick arch of his brow, followed by a widening of his eyes.

"Wait, you mean…" Lorrik started, before watching the last two apprentices walk in. Nesk and Vurt. The Trandoshan took his place against the wall whilst the Nikto took a seat at the bed's side. Lorrik slowly panned his gaze between the two figures, both of whom offered their own cold stares in return.

The three apprentices remained silent for what seemed like a minute, before Lorrik finally spoke up. "Well, this has been great guys, but…"

"Lorrik," Vurt finally spoke, to Lorrik's surprise. His voice was utterly deep, with a gravel that rivaled Syrosk's raspy voice.

"I… honestly couldn't remember if you spoke Basic…" Lorrik admitted.

"I have spoken to Syrosk when appropriate," Vurt stated, each word drawn out and precise. "I speak only to those who have earned my respect. You are the fourth person to do so."

"I… see."

"Before coming to the Academy, I was born into a cult known as the Morgukai," Vurt explained. "Nesk was brought up in a traditional Trandoshan hunting culture. Both belief systems call for a deeper understanding and appreciation for death than you might find in a typical Sith. You are the first being we have met capable of overcoming it. And for that you have our respect."

"Well, uh, I'm honored, but really, I have Jresh to thank," Lorrik admitted. "I think it was him calling to me that actually kept me alive."

"Death is for the unwilling," Vurt coldly stated. "Jresh alone could not have saved you. You are alive, because you willed it to be so. You could have given up. You could have ignored the call. But you didn't. Jresh may have extended a hand, but it was you who took hold. You have unfinished business here, whether you realize it or not. Some part of you refused death."

"Why are you telling me this?" Lorrik asked.

"Confidence is measured by merit," Vurt declared. "We follow Syrosk, because he is strong. When he abandoned us to the wastes, we followed you, because you managed to prove yourself. Should we find ourselves abandoned again, we know who we will follow."

Without another word, the two figure removed themselves from the room, offering one final nod of confidence to the Human as the departed.

"Well, I suppose that takes care of the visitors."

* * *

Outside the Academy halls, the lands that stretched before the facility found themselves burdened by the usual rays of sunlight and heat. Business proceeded as usual within the training grounds, acolytes vying for the attention of overseers, apprentices fulfilling the wishes of their masters. The activities continued uninterrupted even as a shuttle passed closely overhead. The gray passenger vessel touched down at the nearest landing pad, releasing a squeal as its landing gears pressed against the metallic platform. The ship's doors opened and ramp extended, a new batch of acolytes slowly making their way off the ship. After them, however, a lone figure emerged, unique from those who preceded him.

The figure made his way toward the Academy with a casual pace, the tail of his vibrant red coat bouncing with each step.


	88. 3-12 Movements

**Chapter Twelve: Movements**

The halls of the Academy were calm as Jresh made his way toward his partner's room, a tray of food held firmly in his hands. Along the way, he passed Nesk and Vurt who offered nothing but silent glances and a pair of subtle nods. They had visited with Lorrik as agreed, and were now set to fill the rest of the day in the absence of their master.

The Pureblood stalled as he stood in the doorway of his partner's room. The Human was sitting upright in his bed, a smile on his face. He seemed calm, content. Jresh's plan had worked. Stepping past the medical bay's threshold, the warrior was greeted with wide eyes and a hearty chuckle.

"You know me way too well," Lorrik said as he watched his companion approach. The tray in his hands held an arrangement of foods in various shapes and colors. That seemed to be the only way of accurately defining the assortment. The longer Lorrik stared at it, the more his smile shrank. "You know, I appreciate the sentiment, but…"

"I know it's hard going back to eating food that you yourself haven't had a hand in preparing, but you're not exactly fit to cook," Jresh advised. He carefully handed the tray to the bedridden inquisitor, noticing the pale, cracked right hand that took hold of it. The Pureblood struggled to maintain his stoic facade after seeing the extent of his partner's injuries. "You need to get your strength back. There's some meat here…"

"Which one of these is meat?" Lorrik asked as he stared at the tray's contents. Jresh leaned in to get a closer look, carefully studying the arrangement, taking his time before giving an answer.

"I'm actually not sure."

"Honestly, where did you get this?"

"I went to the old mess hall."

"Well, that explains it," Lorrik muttered. "I don't think my stomach's ready to handle Academy food, or worse, sub-Academy food. Do we have anything back at the suite?"

"Mostly basic ingredients. We're coming up on restock day-"

"Ah, that's it," Lorrik interrupted. "You could talk to the quartermaster. I'm sure he could secure us some healthier foods."

"I'm not sure that's wise. Syrosk warned us to keep your stay here a secret. We have to be careful who we meet with until you've recovered," Jresh explained.

"It's okay, we can trust him."

"Can we? You are aware whom everyone connected to the old classrooms serves, right?"

"He's more trustworthy than anyone else who works in this place, genuine Academy staff included. He's responsible for our extra food supplies. He's responsible for my lightsaber's construction. He's helped us, even knowing that we know about Tash," Lorrik explained.

"Very well. I trust your judgment," Jresh stated with a dutiful nod. "I'll be back with some better food. Don't go anywhere."

The Pureblood smiled as his companion let out a soft chuckle. As far as jokes go, it was rather poor, but then again it was never the warrior's strong suit. But none the less, it managed to raise the Human's spirits greater than any medicine could. For the all the pain the two apprentices had gone through, and were still forced to deal with, they knew that it was incapable of stopping them. They would survive. They would persist. They would progress.

Jresh stepped out of the room with a subtle limp, leaving Lorrik alone with his meal. After a careful minute of close examination, the inquisitor slowly raised his left hand and offered a gentle prod to what he though was a slab of meat on his tray. The material could not maintain its shape under the weight on the Human's inquiring finger, squishing as it slowly lost its consistency. Lorrik grimaced as the endeavor raised more questions than it could solve. With no further inquiries, the Human carefully moved the tray to the chair next to his bed, deciding himself capable of waiting for his partner's return.

* * *

The Pureblood carefully walked the halls of the Academy, hands filled with a variety of fruits and vegetables provided by the quartermaster. The exchange was brief and without difficulties, something the warrior thought an impossibility within the Academy. He had thought his companion overly optimistic, but he had truly forged an alliance with the quartermaster, however benign it was.

As the warrior made his way back toward his partner, he sensed something was amiss. He could sense worry. Panic. Fear. His eyes immediately sharpened as his heart began to beat ever faster. But his first thought would not drive him to action, for he knew these emotions weren't coming from Lorrik. The bond that they shared meant he would have immediately sensed if his partner was in danger. And yet these feelings were emanating from someone with whom he did share some form of connection. The warrior received his answer when a black blur entered his line of sight.

"Syrosk?" Jresh muttered, dumfounded by the sight of his master, garbed in a set of simple black robes rather than in armored attire. The Sith Lord moved with a pace the warrior had never seen him use outside of battle. Nor had he known his master to be incapable of masking his emotional state. As soon as the Pureblood's words left his lips, the alien stopped dead in his tracks. The horned head of the Sith Lord turned to face his apprentice, casting a sharp glare.

"Jresh! What are you doing out here? Why aren't you with Lorrik?" Syrosk harshly rasped. So many questions began to fill the warrior's head. Where had his master been for the past few days? What could cause him to emerge? Why question his presence? Most importantly, where was he going?

"I was getting Lorrik… some food," Jresh answered. He knew no matter his answer, it would not assuage his master's concerns. Concerns the warrior required insight into. "What is happening, Syrosk?"

The Sith Lord remained silent, turning his head back and forth between his apprentice and his prior path. With a wave of his hand, he beckoned the Pureblood to follow. As he continued his flight down the hallway, Jresh rushed to keep at his master's side.

"Lorrik is in danger," Syrosk plainly stated, his eyes fixated upon the path ahead.

"He's been in danger these past few days!" Jresh countered, maintaining his pace. "And yet, you saw fit to hide yourself away. Now that he's awake you finally emerge?"

"He has awoken?" Syrosk softly rasped, genuinely unaware of these event. The Sith Lord's gaze fell as he gathered his thoughts, body still caught in the perpetuation of motion. "It will be for naught if we cannot get to him in time."

"In time for what? How is he in danger?" Jresh asked. "I sense nothing, nor does our bond tell me he is in harm's way."

"You want to know why I 'hid myself away'? So that I could meditate. So that I could anticipate the inevitable threat that would befall us."

"What inevitable threat?"

"Tash. I knew he had too many eyes and ears within the Academy for Lorrik's state to go unreported. It was only a matter of how long it would take him to respond. And now, one of his agents managed to sneak onto Korriban, almost slipping completely beneath my notice."

"Enough," Jresh said. "If what you say is true, we mustn't distract ourselves with incessant chatter."

Syrosk offered Jresh a stern nod as the two powerful figures glided down the Academy halls, side by side, master and apprentice, rushing toward the unknown. As they neared the section of the Academy where Lorrik resided, a troubling feeling began to stir within the Pureblood's gut. What manner of individual could manage to evade Syrosk's usually impeccable insight? After all the apprentices had done to lay low, to not draw the ire of Syrosk's rival, why would someone target Lorrik. The warrior drew solace from the fact that no matter what force may yet threaten his companion, the bond between them told him that Lorrik was safe for the time being. Which meant there was still time to reach him.

The pair drew closer and closer, eyes fixated only on the path in front of them. Each new object and figure that momentarily entered their view would be quickly passed and forgotten. And no person, no Sith, would stand in their way, for they knew better. Only a few halls rest between Jresh and his companion. The warrior's senses told him that Lorrik's position had not changed since his departure, but the same could not be said of his emotional state. There was an energy that wasn't there before. Whether it was good or bad he could not tell. He could not parse his own feelings from his partner's. Was the worry he sensed his own? And was it clouding his judgment? Or was he, in fact, too late?

The master and apprentice rounded the final corner, Lorrik's room now firmly within their sights. Jresh overtook his master, rushing forth with an astounding burst of speed. The warrior burst into his companion's room, Syrosk following soon after, only to discover that Lorrik was not alone. Jresh and his master were greeted with the sound of Lorrik crying out, not with screams or protests, but with laughter.

The inquisitor sat upright in his bed, all smiles, a similarly joyful Human sitting beside him. The older man held in one hand Lorrik's previously discarded meal tray, the other deftly wielding a fork with a bit of food skewered upon its tip. Almost a decade had passed since their last meeting, but Jresh immediately recognized the individual who looked to be in his mid-thirties. His looks, his demeanor, his attire. They all pointed to one man: Vai Thorel.

"I think you're right, that might not have been meat." Thorel chuckled, looking up to see Jresh and Syrosk standing stupefied a short distance away. "Oh, hey! Visitors!"

"Lorrik… is everything alright?" Jresh cautiously asked, his guard not yet lowered.

"Of course!" Lorrik cheerfully replied. "You remember Vai, right? Vai, that's-"

"Jresh Takuul," Thorel interrupted, thrusting out his arms in a welcoming motion. The man hadn't lost his smooth complexion, nor his equally smooth voice. "How could I forget the only Pureblood I brought to the Academy. But more importantly… Syrosk!"

The Human lifted himself from his seat, leaving the food tray behind as he circumvented the bed. With a brisk pace he approached the Sith Lord who retained his usual scowl, the tail of his red coat bouncing with each giddy step. Face to face with the old Lord, Thorel stretched his arms out wide. Syrosk's stance remained rigid as he continued to cast a cold glare toward the Human.

"Come on Syrosk, how long has it been?" Thorel asked, dropping his arms. "Don't tell me you aren't excited to see me."

"Given the intrinsic implications of your visit… I'm far from excited," Syrosk rasped. Thorel's spirits refused to damper as the two remained locked in silence. Jresh sidestepped the pair, edging closer to his companion. In his rush to return, the Pureblood had lost a few fruit, but the majority of his stock remained safely tucked within his arms. The sight of which filled Lorrik with renewed delight.

"Thank goodness. I was starving," Lorrik spoke up. The inquisitor took one of the fruit from his partner and took a hearty bite, reveling in the first experience of bodily pleasantness since awakening. Jresh had not yet relaxed from his heightened state of awareness, his gaze passing cautiously between the actors that graced the room.

"Lorrik," Jresh whispered. "I'm not usually one to question your ability to stay calm in adverse situations, but…"

"Adverse?" Lorrik replied, mouth filled with fruit. Turning his attention toward his visitor, he began waving his hand. "Hey Vai, want something to get that bad taste out of your mouth?"

"That'd be lovely," Thorel declared, tearing himself away from the crotchety Lord. Lorrik tapped Jresh's arm, signaling him to toss his visitor a piece. The Pureblood hesitantly complied, softly pitching a fruit to Thorel, who received it with a perfect catch. "Quite the apprentice you have here, Syrosk."

The Sith Lord continued to stare down the red cloaked figure as he casually leaned against the wall near Lorrik. "What is your purpose here?"

Thorel offered a quick laugh. "I thought that'd be obvious. I'm just checking up on things for Tash."

"Then why are you bothering one of my students?" Syrosk rasped. "My apprentices and I are no longer within his domain and no longer subject to his scrutiny."

"I wouldn't say I'm bothering anyone, right Lorrik?" Thorel warmly asked of the bedridden inquisitor.

"Syrosk… it's okay. I'm okay," Lorrik reassured. "We've just been partaking in some light conversation, nothing to worry about."

"Need I remind you of the man this one serves?" Syrosk harshly asked.

"Perhaps you do," Lorrik declared, his previous enthusiasm dropping. "We know next to nothing about Tash other than the warnings you've so sparingly doled out over our apprenticeship."

"Well, that's no good Syrosk," Thorel jokingly offered. "Two years and you haven't been able to instill a fear of my master in your students? I can understand the inherent difficulty, though. Any attempts to vilify Tash would either be disregarded or end up reflecting poorly upon yourself."

"Tash does not need my help cementing his reputation," Syrosk harshly declared. "The evidence rests in his mockery of the Sith Academy."

"Mockery we both played an essential role in establishing if I recall correctly," Thorel countered.

"Under false pretense," Syrosk replied. "My goal was and still is to ensure the strength of the next generation of Sith, regardless of their perceived worth. But all Tash wants is control. He intends to use these students as he has all others, as mere tools. Just as had done to me. Just as he will do to you."

"And to think, you two used to be the closest of friends," Thorel morosely stated. Lorrik and Jresh offered only stunned silence in response to the unfolding conversation, panning their gaze back and forth before settling on their master. Noticing the apprentices' reaction, the visitor couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "You truly haven't told them anything have you? You and Tash really aren't that different after all."

"I never went behind his back and murdered his master!" Syrosk exclaimed with a grim shout.

"If you knew the kind of man his master was, you would have," Thorel explained, following up with a light sigh. "You still don't realize he was doing you a favor."

"A favor?" Syrosk shot back, enraged. "He took from me the only person who genuinely believed in my worth. The only person who saw me as more than a filthy alien. Because of him, I was not doomed to a short life on the streets of Dromund Kaas. Because of him, I was able to become a Sith Lord. He was like a father to me!"

"Exactly," Thorel declared. "The way a father would approach his son is much more limited than the way a master would approach his apprentice. He wanted to protect you, so he held you back, made sure you did nothing to displease your fellow Sith. Had he survived, none of us would be here right now. You two would still be collecting the Empire's chosen sons for training, ignoring the lesser beings you and Tash would send me to gather. You believe Tash to be controlling, but you cannot accept the fact that he was the one who freed you from Omnus' control."

"And what leads you to believe I desired such freedom?"

"The fact that you are Sith. Had you lacked the desire, such a title would be unfitting," Thorel explained. "From what I know of your master, he was a good man. A good Sith. I admit, it is a shame Tash was forced to act in the manner he chose, but he was afraid you could not escape your master's influence otherwise. Unfortunately, his influence proved rather deep seeded."

"Tash was a fool if he thought I'd so readily cast aside my master's wisdom," Syrosk declared.

"Ah yes, the wisdom of the Seer," Thorel toyed with the Sith Lord. "Considering you've left your apprentices in the dark regarding your role this institution, I'll hazard a guess that they aren't privy to the details regarding your falling out with Tash."

The room fell silent. The two apprentices continued to stare toward their master, their faces revealing a wide array of internal feelings. They found themselves witness to a struggle beyond their understanding, from a time before they had ever set foot on Korriban. And as each new sliver of information came to light, the apprentices slowly realized that for all their time within the Academy halls, under the tutelage of their master, they were still being kept in the dark, left to uncover whatever they could themselves or wait for someone to graciously provide them answers to questions they hadn't even asked.

"We always assumed the hatred stemmed from the death of his master," Lorrik softly stated, almost struggling to get the words out.

"Oh, he didn't even know my master was responsible for that until after the initial confrontation," Thorel explained. "Go ahead Syrosk, tell them why you decided to oppose Tash."

The Sith Lord remained silent, offering only his stern glare toward the provoking Human.

"Syrosk?" Lorrik hesitantly spoke up.

"You want the truth? Fine," Syrosk softly rasped. "Years ago, Tash and I were allies, friends even. Our masters operated within similar spheres, so we were acquainted at an early age. We would share resources, train one another, eliminating whatever weakness our masters couldn't. When Tash's master died, his assets and position were assumed by his apprentice. When my master died, I was left with nothing. Alone and an outcast within my own order, I sought out the only person I thought I could trust. Tash. He proposed the idea of establishing new classrooms within the Academy, one accepting of all Force-sensitives regardless of status, using my visions to locate and gather children across the galaxy. He appealed to my faltering faith in the Empire, promised me that we would usher in a new era for the Sith. But after the last child had been collected, I was granted one last vision. One that spoke of Tash's inevitable betrayal. I saw my own life extinguished by his hand. So I confronted him. Demanded an explanation, to which he provided none. I had served my purpose in finding him a batch of young Force-users, so he had no qualms severing his ties with me. Once more I was alone. An outcast. Worthless. Without the backing of someone of repute, the title of Sith Lord was meaningless when worn by an alien like me. But I was given clear insight into our fates. That is why I challenged him. That is why I continue to challenge him. Until the day I perish."

"And that… is the influence you could not be ridded of," Thorel plainly offered. "We thought your master was the only thing controlling you, but there was something else. Something far more destructive. Your 'visions'. They weren't a talent, nor a gift, but a crutch, one that supported the entire weight of your being. You could not comprehend the possibility that you made a mistake. You could not believe in the slightest of chances that you had misinterpreted a vision."

"There was no room for misinterpretation, Thorel," Syrosk deliberately stated. "I saw with utter, uncompromised clarity."

"Of course you did," Thorel dismissed. "After all, Seers gonna see."

"I can't believe it," Lorrik softly muttered to himself. The others turned to see the inquisitor looking down, eyes wide, hands shaking. "Not just the past few months… but the past ten years of my life have been a lie."

"Your reaction is justified, Lorrik," Syrosk admitted. "I never should have kept you in the dark regarding myself and Tash."

"I couldn't care less about whatever problems you two have with one another," Lorrik emphatically declared.

Slowly, the inquisitor began to shift his position, hanging his legs over the side of the bed. His body was heavy, and his movements were strained, but the Human forced himself to get up. As Lorrik's bare feet graced the cold floor, Jresh quickly rushed to his side to offer assistance, dropping what remained of the produce tucked within his arms. As the Pureblood's steadying hand graced his companion's shoulder, Lorrik offered his appreciation, but gently removed it to stand of his own accord . The warrior offered a knowing nod and stepped away.

"No, what I can't believe, is that the freedom I was promised is nothing but a lie," Lorrik said, taking a careful step toward his master. "Vai. Leave us."

The visitor took one final glance between the Sith Lord and his apprentices before offering a solitary nod. "If you ever want to talk, you can always find me."

Without another word, Vai Thorel removed himself from the wall and made his way toward the exit, offering one last wink to Syrosk and taking a bite of his fruit before vacating the room.

"How dare you call yourself a Sith," Lorrik muttered as he trudged ever closer to his master. "How could you hope to give your students freedom, when you haven't earned it yourself? Everything that has transpired, has been because of your 'visions'. Our survival, our progression… you're telling me these weren't born out of skill or determination or sacrifice… but rather fate? You're telling me that every challenge, every trial, every life, every death… is predetermined?"

"No… I am not," Syrosk coldly answered.

"Then why? Why would you risk throwing everything away because of one simple vision," Lorrik taunted, taking hold of his master's horns, bringing him and his master face to face. Jresh kept his distance, but watched the scene unfold with a careful eye. "All this trouble we find ourselves in now, is because you didn't even think to alter the outcome. If the answer you are given is wrong, you don't just accept it, you correct it!"

"What would you suggest?" Syrosk countered. "Just ignore my vision, remain blissfully unaware of the truth behind my master's demise, follow Tash with the same blind devotion as his underlings whilst the doubt continued to erode at my mind? You don't understand what it's like to see your own death! You would not be able to just let that go!"

Lorrik stared deep into his master's eyes, before darting his gaze toward the room's exit. Silence dominated the room for what felt like an eternity. Without warning, the inquisitor relinquished his grip on his master's appendages, the anger slowly fading from his face.

"Alright, Vai's far enough away that I needn't keep this up," Lorrik admitted, taking an exhausted step backward.

"What are you talking about?" Syrosk asked, genuinely confused.

"Come on Syrosk, I've been around long enough to know when I'm being manipulated," Lorrik explained. "Vai wanted to create a rift between us. I thought I'd let him leave thinking he was successful."

The Sith Lord's eyes widened as he slowly wound down from his previous exchange. "I must say I'm… impressed, apprentice. You give a very… convincing performance."

"That's because I meant every word I said, I merely enhanced my tone," Lorrik admitted. "You made us your apprentices, you promised us answers, and yet we're still learning things we should have known long ago. Look, I get it, you've had your reasons for doing everything you done… which you probably can't say about most Sith. But can you honestly say you still think you're doing the right thing?"

"You don't understand-"

"That's your problem!" Lorrik chastised. "You think you're in some unique position, that no one could possibly understand or relate to what you've been through. Well, you're wrong. You were the one who found us in the first place, right? So you know our histories. Slaves. Aliens. Outcasts. You thought us capable of trusting our partners, but you didn't think we would trust you? All we've given you these past months is trust! Despite all the hardships, the grievances, the uncertainty, we still followed you. Not out of blind faith, but because we respected your teachings. We respected you. We believed in you. At the very least, you could do the same for your apprentices. You've seen what we've accomplished. You've seen what we're capable of. You still think there is such a thing an inevitability? Well, you shouldn't. Only the weak and the easily frightened thinks something cannot be overcome. The Syrosk I know is neither of those things. And by the way, you think you're the only the one with visions? You think you're the only one whose seen his own death? Well, you're not!"

Lorrik's speech was cut short as a sharp pain formed in the pit of his stomach. The Human fell to his knee, clutching at his gut as his companion rushed over to steady him. The inquisitor slowly raised himself back up as the Pureblood grasped his shoulders.

"You're speaking of this affliction?" Syrosk asked.

"No," Lorrik softly answered as Jresh led him back to his bed. "Although, in retrospect, I should have foreseen this consequence… I had no prior knowledge of the events that would surround it." Lorrik took his seat on the edge of the bed, the internal pain slowly subsiding. After a few deep breaths, he had returned to normal. "No, I saw my end in one of the tombs, in the Valley of Forgotten Lords. The vision I received came to me before you had even sent us into the wastes. It showed a monstrous being effortlessly snapping my neck inside of a tomb, the very same creature we would encounter the day you sent us to plunder those tombs. And the moment I realized I now stood face to face with my demise, I was afraid. Utterly, utterly afraid. Because in that instant, I thought believing in myself meant believing my vision had to be true. But I could not accept that fate, not as long as I knew there was work to be done, so long as I knew there were people who thought my life worth preserving. It was because of that encounter that I realized the importance of the bond between Jresh and myself. Whatever 'fates' we possessed as individuals no longer exist. Why can't you see that same applies to you."

Syrosk's eyes drifted to the floor. "In my attempts to avoid my master's mistakes… I've been unable to avoid making new ones. While I believed my fate to be sealed, I thought you all could be free of Tash's schemes. It would seem I merely placed you within one of my own. I thought I was preparing you for the day you would succeed me, as is a masters' duty. I thought I could do it in a way that was above the other petty Sith nonsense. In the end, my attempts were… misguided. It turns out the realms of guidance and manipulation have some overlap."

"It's time to forget about the past, and focus on the future. The REAL future," Lorrik declared.

"I agree, the question is, where do we go from here?" Syrosk asked.

"We train. As we always have," Lorrik answered.

"I meant about Tash, about Thorel," Syrosk clarified. "As we speak, he's likely conversing with the other apprentices. They'll want answers."

"And they'll get them. They deserve that much," Lorrik declared. "Vai will say his piece, check up on Tash's holdings, and report back to his master. Nothing we can do to stop it. We'll just pick up training once he leaves Korriban."

"Assuming none of the other apprentices leave with him," Syrosk stated.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Lorrik replied, cracking a smile.

"Really? You seemed quite enamored with him. He rescued you and the others from their past lives. I cannot deny that his words carry much weight."

"True, their source is credible, but the words themselves speak for his master, not Vai himself. Regardless of your part in events recent or long since passed, our years in his classrooms have not left a good impression of Tash. You see, now we know the real you. We cannot say the same about him. And that is why we will never join him. But that is also why we will not blindly oppose him. But you two possess a bond. An imperfect bond, but a bond nonetheless. You two are connected, and while I don't believe in inevitability, I do know that we will be forced to deal with him so long as we remain your students. You want to know where we go from here? We're going to have to find out who the real Tash is. Not the one you despise. Not the one his students revere. Not the one his underlings fear. The real Tash. And there's only one person who can tell us who that is."

"And it's not his apprentice," Syrosk offered, his hand lightly scratching his chin. "The man will not willing reveal his intensions."

"Since when have Sith cared about willingness?" Lorrik joked. "Everyone has a breaking point. We'll provoke him, make him angry, do everything Vai did to loosen your tongue. We'll see him for who he truly is. Then, and only then, will we choose to oppose him."

"I doubt he'll grace us with his presence anytime soon," Syrosk rasped.

"Then we'll simply have to judge him by how he reacts… when he starts slowly losing control of his Academy," Lorrik declared. Steadily, the Human lifted himself from his seat on the edge of the bed. "The next time we meet, you tell your apprentices everything. The history. The visions. The truth. All of it. I told the others a while ago that I'd get some answers out of you. I'd like to remain a man of my word. Until then, I'll be getting some needed rest in a room with actual amenities."

The inquisitor made his way toward the room's exit, Jresh following shortly after. As much injury as their bodies had sustained, in that moment, there was no evidence of the fact. The two apprentices were utterly confident, uncompromised figures. As the pair silently made their exit, the Pureblood stopped to shoot one final glance to his master. The two shared a brief exchange of stoicism, each sharpening their eyes as they gazed into one another's. The warrior felt compelled to remain silent for the entire exchange, and felt no reason to compromise that silence now.

Lorrik and Jresh left their master to his own devices, heading back to their home. To recover from what had transpired. To prepare for what was to come.


	89. 3-13 Lessons

**Chapter Thirteen: Lessons**

As the Human and Pureblood walked the halls of the Academy they were met with little traffic, and much silence. Silence that would be broken by their hushed whispers.

"Lorrik, is everything okay?" Jresh asked.

The Human let out a soft chuckle. "When has everything ever been okay?" Lorrik muttered. The inquisitor looked to his companion before letting out a soft sigh. "I'm sorry. Yeah, everything's fine. My insides are still a little jumbled, just need a little time to fully recuperate."

"As nice as that is to hear, I was concerned with more than just your physicality," Jresh added.

"Me? What about you? You were pretty quiet in there," Lorrik replied.

"Considering the conversation you had with our master, it seemed the smart choice," Jresh admitted.

"You don't seem too upset by the recent turn of events," Lorrik stated.

"I guess my time here has desensitized me to such revelations," Jresh declared. "We always believed Syrosk to be withholding information. We always believed there to be deeper motivations driving the actions of our superiors. All we've learned is that Syrosk is no longer the only person who sees the value of our strength."

"Just because a Sith finds value in something, doesn't mean he won't exploit it," Lorrik explained.

"And you believe Tash means to exploit us?"

"Us. The other students. Even his own apprentice," Lorrik offered. "There is a… genuineness to Vai, unlike any other Sith I have ever met. Every word he speaks is without malice, without venom, without falsehoods. I mean, we both know someone can mask their truest intentions, but Vai reads like an open book. A man with nothing to hide, nothing to prove. Honest and kind to a fault."

"See bits of yourself in him?"

"Actually, yes," Lorrik admitted. "I mean, he was the first Sith I had ever met, and he left a lasting impression. The first few years of the Academy, the instructors tried to reinforce the ideas of what it meant to be Sith. But I knew that strength was not reliant on selfishness and cruelty, because of him."

"And yet, you do not take him at his word about Tash. If the man is as honest as you say, why not believe what he says about his master."

"Because, not all falsehoods are lies," Lorrik explained. "I believe that he believes every words he says."

"And what do you truly believe about Tash?"

"Nothing. And that is deeply disconcerting," Lorrik declared. "Over time, I've come to know you, you've come to know me. We both know the other students, our master, even those who themselves work under Tash. But with each new detail, each new piece of insight, how much do we learn about Tash? He is loved, he is hated, he is trusted, he is feared. He is everywhere, he is nowhere. He knows everything, he knows nothing. He has made it so that the only person who can truly give us answers, is the man himself, and if it weren't for Syrosk or Vai, we wouldn't even have confirmation of his existence."

"Perhaps he doesn't exist, and this is just some sort of running joke."

"It's not as ridiculous as you might think," Lorrik stated. "There is strength in non-existence. The ability to act without repercussion. Power sourced from belief and credulity. The man has chosen his enemies carefully. The only one to speak against him is a lone Sith Lord of alien blood. No one else has any reason to."

"I'd say our tenure in the classrooms is reason enough," Jresh declared.

"Is it? I mean, if anything he kept us alive. I'm not sure I would have survived the Academy proper, and I certainly wouldn't have survived if I had never been picked up from my home planet," Lorrik stated. "But had he and Syrosk never split, would any of that be the same? Everything that he has done has been neither good nor bad, simply different. So that's why I ask, what is it that he truly desires? We don't know. Syrosk doesn't know. His underlings don't know. We have no reason to help him or hinder him, and yet our paths continually align regardless of our attempts to steer clear. And quite frankly, I'm tired of it. So we're going to push him, until he reveals his true self."

"A man doesn't go pushing around Darths to satisfy mere curiosity," Jresh replied.

"This is about more than just getting some answers, this is about finally earning my freedom," Lorrik declared. "All the strength, all the knowledge we possess is worthless if we cannot escape the workings of our superiors, and I do not take Tash for a man to let things slip from his grasp. The man embodies control… the very thing we seek to liberate ourselves from…"

"How can you be sure of this?"

"I can't. But I have reason for my suspicions. In my talk with Syrosk I… wasn't the most forthcoming," Lorrik hesitantly admitted.

"Really? I thought you to be rather direct," Jresh stated.

"Direct, yes, but I left out one particular bit of information in our talk of visions," Lorrik revealed. "I had another one, whilst on the brink of death. Between my collapse during the duel and my awakening, I was almost suffocated by darkness. The days I was out passed in a matter of moments, but I saw a glimpse of the future. An aged Human, standing amidst a scene of death and destruction. A Sith I'd not laid eyes on before. But it felt real. Realer than anything I felt before."

"You believe this figure to be Tash," Jresh questioned.

"I believe there to be a chance," Lorrik answered. "But unlike Syrosk, I don't intend to let such visions control me, to dictate my fate."

"Neither do you intend to totally ignore them."

"We survived the encounter with the entombed Massassi, but only barely," Lorrik admitted. "I believe we can change the future, but I do not believe it to be a simple task."

"But that is assuming the future you've seen is worth changing," Jresh replied. "You've no proof of the man in your vision's identity. You've no context to the death that surrounds him. They could allies or enemies. So long as you call yourself Sith, you will see death. More than you might care to."

"I know. And I know that Syrosk's mistake was his failure to contextualize and interpret his vision," Lorrik admitted. "Which is why our current course of action is to figure out the truth, once and for all. The only way this conflict can truly end is with the revelation of the involved parties' true selves. Then, and only then, will we know how to achieve true freedom."

"And which 'true selves' would you consider to have been revealed thus far?" Jresh asked

"We and the other apprentices pretty much have each other figured out," Lorrik suggested. "And Syrosk… Syrosk I feel will divulge such information himself."

"And what of Tash's apprentice," Jresh inquired. "Do you have full confidence in your assessment of him."

"I do," Lorrik bluntly stated.

"Then that just leaves Tash himself."

"Well, Tash, his instructors, miscellaneous Academy staff, Academy personnel outside Tash's realm of influence, and just about every other Imperial and or Sith on Korriban," Lorrik jokingly listed. "But all things in time."

"Speaking of time, you need to spend yours recovering," Jresh advised. "All the visions and careful planning in the world can't help you if your body remains in its current state."

"Well, that's debatable, but I understand your point," Lorrik said with a smile. "A couple days of meditation and healing, and all my insides should be in their proper place."

"What about your hand?" Jresh asked, a sliver of concern slipping through in his voice.

"Ah yes, the arm," Lorrik muttered, looking at his cracked and blackened palm. "I'm afraid that may be beyond healing… which means the same for your leg, I'm afraid. But don't worry, I'm sure there's an answer somewhere. I'll find a technique that's able to-"

Jresh raised a comforting hand. "Don't worry yourself, Lorrik. All things in time."

Lorrik felt lifted by his companion's resolve. "The famed resilience of Jresh Takuul. Which will likely come in handy, considering you might be facing the other apprentices alone while I recover."

"Assuming they all decide to continue their training under Syrosk."

"I have a feeling they'll not be going anywhere."

"I'd not underestimate their willingness to sever ties with Syrosk," Jresh declared.

"I'd not overestimate it either," Lorrik replied. "We all believe in Syrosk. We may find faults in some of his methods, his behaviors, his ideas, but we respect the man himself. And after today, that's who we finally get to interact with. Since the earliest days of our training, we believed in him, and he believed in us, despite either side's protests to that fact. Through his lessons we learned to believe in ourselves. It's time we teach him to believe in himself. In the end, we all become stronger."

"So that was the purpose of your speech? To boost a Sith Lord's confidence?" Jresh asked.

Lorrik offered a reserved laugh. "In plainest term, I suppose so. It's a student's duty to ensure their master's competence."

As the two apprentices neared their home's entrance, Jresh hastily moved to open the door for his weakened companion. The inquisitor offered an appreciative chuckle to his gallant partner before entering the apartment. The serene living quarters that greeted him were a sight for sore eyes, offering a place of comfort to recover.

"I kept your lightsaber safe inside your desk," Jresh explained.

"That's good to hear," Lorrik said as he headed into the kitchen. "I was afraid it had been left out on the cliff.

"Syrosk picked it up alongside your unconscious body when he carried you back to the Academy.

The inquisitor replied with a silent nod of his head as he reached for the conservator handle. "See? I knew he cared. Hopefully the others will come around to-waah!" Lorrik elicited a harsh shriek as he jumped at the sight of the container's frigid contents. Upon the center shelf rested the severed black hand of the Massassi. "Why is that in there?"

"You were in a coma, and I didn't know what to do with it," Jresh bluntly admitted. "I made sure it didn't touch anything, so to speak, not that we have much in the way of food in there anyway."

Retrieving the chilled paw, Lorrik grasped ahold of it with his right hand, miming a mock handshake. Aside from the slight coldness permeating through his numbed hand, the beast's limb had not changed since the Human last laid eyes on it. Turning it over, the inquisitor remarked, "You know, for an abhorrent piece of corrupted flesh, I must commend the craftsmanship of the outer material. I wonder if it has to be fused to the subject's skin, or if it could work as a coating…"

"I'd advise caution if you plan on delving into that holocron again," Jresh said from across the room. "Your first attempt didn't exactly leave a good impression."

Looking into the living area, Lorrik saw the pyramid-shaped artifact resting atop his desk where he had left it. "Don't worry. My inquisitiveness has its limits. I know better than to put either of us in danger again."

"We're Sith. Putting ourselves in danger is part of our craft," Jresh admitted. "What's important is knowing how to get out of it."

"The famed wisdom of Jresh Takuul," Lorrik offered, tossing the severed hand back into the conservator and shutting the door. "When is restock day?"

"Tomorrow," Jresh answered.

"Ah. Hey, if I was unconscious this week, where did all our supplies go? You weren't stress easting were you?" Lorrik jokingly asked.

"Remember last week? When you went through our weekly stock early and asked for this week's supplies in advance?"

"Maybe."

"And you remember how you went through most of those trying out your new 'recipes'?"

"Oh, yeah… hey, I was technically momentarily dead, you can cut me some slack in the memory department." The inquisitor saw his companion looking back at him, struggling to maintain his stoic visage. "I'm sorry. Probably not the best topic to joke about."

"It's okay," Jresh stated. "I'm just happy to see you back to your old self. Now I just have to wait for your body to recover. Regardless of the outcome with Syrosk and the other apprentices, the trials to come will require bodies and minds be at their peak."

"Yeah, only now that's true for Syrosk as well," Lorrik said. "He's been training us under the assumption that we'll succeed him after his inevitable death, which while technically falling in line with traditional Sith doctrine, has been misguided."

"But not anymore, right? It's not enough for the eight of us to become stronger, he must as well."

Lorrik made his way across the living area and toward his bedroom. "Yup. I'd say it's time we became the teachers."

* * *

"It's time you became the teachers," Syrosk rasped.

Upon the cliff top, Syrosk stood under the early morning sun across from his apprentices. All eight of them. The day following the arrival of Vai Thorel, the eight students had heard the words of their master weighed against that of Tash's apprentice, and subsequently chosen their place. A place upon which they stood adamantly amongst the swirling machinations of competing Sith Lords, confident in their renewed self-worth. However, even the most grizzled countenance faltered at their master's peculiar suggestion.

"You all have come far in the past months, further than I had ever expected," Syrosk continued. "Your bodies, minds, and spirits have shown progress unbefitting the lowly acolytes the other denizens of Korriban would see you as. Potential yet remains within you all, ready to be unlocked, but that will have to wait for another day. A unique set of circumstances has allowed for the orchestration of your next trial. Today, you all will be teachers, instructors, masters. Vai Thorel has not yet left Korriban. In fact, today he meets with those who teach Tash's classrooms. Outside of said classrooms, of course. The students have the day off, to leisure about the lower halls of the Academy as you all were once accustomed to. However, should the students be convinced to attend class, they would find themselves in need of a substitute."

"Wait a minute, you want us to take over the old classrooms for a day?" Arlia asked with disbelief.

"Yes," Syrosk rasped. "However, I would like you to address the others students with your partners, so you will only be meeting with four of the classrooms. But with time, whatever impact you have today will spread by the actions and words of those you have addressed. I have taught you. You will teach them. And they will teach others."

"What exactly are we supposed to teach them?" Kar'ai asked.

"That is for you to decide," Syrosk answered. "Force them to worship the group you walk on. Tell them to love or hate me or Tash. Do nothing but stare at them for an hour, I honestly don't care."

"Then why make us do it?" Isorr asked.

"One, it shows Tash that his domain is not indomitable nor untouchable," Syrosk replied. "Tash regardless of his wants and desires has looked upon the Academy from afar for too long. If he wants to operate on Korriban, he'll have to do so through means other than proxy by way of apprentice. And two, wisdom cannot be taught, it must be earned. It can however, be earned by teaching. And three, it gives me the day to attend to other Academy business."

"This isn't another one of those, 'hide us away while you deal with something important' kinds of business is it?" Lorrik asked.

"If I desired to hide you, I would not do so in the heart of the Academy," Syrosk rasped.

"Technically, I think the old classrooms are closer to its bowels than its heart, but point taken," Lorrik joked.

Arlia offered an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Oh, is your class in for a treat."

"Do we get to pick the classes, or are they predetermined?" Ryloh spoke up.

"You and your partner will be teaching Kar'ai's former classroom," Syrosk began. "Isorr will teach his former class with Arlia. Lorrik will teach his former class with Jresh. Vurt will teach his former class with Nesk. Any questions?"

"Yeah, if our trial is in the Academy classrooms, why did we meet out here?"

"I'm a creature of habit," Syrosk offered, completely deadpan. "You're all dismissed."

The eights students of Lord Syrosk left their master alone on the Korriban peak as they began their bemused trek back to the Academy. They had been given a time, a place, and a task. However, only two of those three had been adequately defined. The apprentices would be returning to the very classrooms they left behind many months ago.

Traversing the path back to the Academy, none of the students had a solid plan of action. Whereas in the past, even though each new trial proved a surprise, the first and last goal was survival. No longer was that the case. The apprentices had surpassed the point in which each and every day was a life threatening experience. They had conquered the harshest wastes of Korriban. They had proven themselves capable of going toe to toe with a Sith Lord in full combat. They had pushed their bodies, minds, and spirits past their believed limits. And now, they found themselves stalled by the simple task of giving a lecture.

But as most of the students focused on the task ahead, one still found his thoughts thoroughly embedded in the present. As the eight apprentices walked together under the Korriban sun, Lorrik passed his warm gaze from student to student. Only now was it setting in that the other six stood by his side. With bright eyes, the Human held his head high as he approached the distant Academy.

"Let me guess, surprised we all decided to stay?" Arlia teased, picking up on her fellow inquisitor's mindset.

"As much as I'd like to say no…" Lorrik admitted.

"Well, we were given the same opportunity when we came back from the wastes," Ryloh reminded. "Stay with Syrosk, or completely sever our ties. We chose Syrosk then. We choice Syrosk this time."

"Yeah, but last time, it was deciding between Syrosk and an entirely new life," Lorrik said. "This time around, it was a choice between two paths. Paths that proceed toward the same destination. Paths that will inevitably cross one another."

"We stuck with what we knew," Isorr declared.

"More like we stuck with what we knew you would do," Arlia corrected. "Then again, from what Syrosk told us, you and Jresh were sticking by his side before we even knew that there was a choice to be made."

"Yeah, you were the first to decide, so I guess we just went along with you," Kar'ai added.

"Wow," Lorrik muttered, genuinely astonished. "I didn't think we'd have that much of an influence."

"Before you let it go to your head, you should know that we just didn't feel like splitting up the group," Arlia admitted. "Vai said we could continue our apprenticeship under Tash, pick up right where we left off. Promised us a place alongside a master with actual stature in the Empire. All in all, it sounded like a pretty good deal."

"And you know what they say about Sith Lords offering good deals," Isorr added.

"What?" Ryloh asked.

"Nothing. Because they don't exist," Isorr declared.

"In the end, things probably wouldn't be that different if we joined Tash," Arlia stated. "We'd be given trials. We'd become stronger. We'd be kept in the dark regarding our master's deeper intentions. Same old stuff. But if we split up, it would only be a matter of time before we would be forced to kill one another, and we thought it prudent to avoid that."

"Aw, it's always nice to hear that you care, Arlia," Lorrik joked.

"I wouldn't mind the killing. And in your current state it would really only be Jresh we'd have to worry about," Arlia admitted. "It's just that I'd rather not eliminate someone of relatively equal standing at the word the man who waited this long to consider us worthy of his attention. Say what you will about Syrosk, but he's one of the few people who genuinely couldn't care less about our species or background."

"It doesn't matter who we serve, we'll likely never escape the scrutiny afforded to us by our blood," Kar'ai offered. "Our master could sit on the Dark Council and it wouldn't free us from the burden of prejudice. In the end, Tash couldn't offer us anything we couldn't earn ourselves. He certainly couldn't offer us anything worth splitting up the eight of us. And since you stayed with Syrosk, we stayed as well."

Lorrik absorbed the words of his fellow apprentices. He realized that they all had broken free of the institutions the Academy had tried to drill into them from the earliest of ages. The reverence of their elders. The student blindly following the master. They stood as independents. Even as they forged bonds with one another, even as they owed their current status to Syrosk, they were freer than most who called Korriban home. They had been awakened to the truth of Darths and Sith Lords, and chosen to believe in the self, rather than aggrandize the influence of their superiors.

Together, the eight apprentices entered the halls of the Academy. Together, they traversed its many corridors, moving deeper and deeper into the belly of the institution. The time in which the four classes would convene was fast approaching. The four pairs offered their goodbyes and put on a brave face for the unknowns that awaited them.


	90. 3-14 Teachings

**Chapter Fourteen: Teachings**

Lorrik and Jresh stood in front of one of the classrooms situated in the lecture wing of the old halls. The one Lorrik had once belonged to. The one Jresh had only once made a brief visit to. In response to their presence, the metallic door rose into its recess above, granting the two apprentices entry. The room was empty, devoid of life but also lacking in the way of fixtures.

A clear path rest between the two apprentices and the lectern that stood across from them. To the left and right of the instructor's position, two sitting areas composed of tiered rows of uncomfortable benches behind solid desks. Having spent so much time amongst the higher levels of the Academy, the apprentices had almost forgotten the cold, brutal designs that made up much of the old halls.

As they familiarized themselves with the classroom, Lorrik felt himself return to a time of simplicity. A time when his only obligation was to show up to class, listen to his instructor's teachings, and demonstrate the simplest of manifestations of the Force. He thought back, to all the times when he felt he narrowly escaped being expelled by the Academy staff, only to wonder if he was ever truly in any danger. The classrooms were the result of a calculated design, one that called not only for subservience, but for a particular population. As his mind focused on the past, he struggled to recall any of the students actually being forced out of the classrooms, despite the constant threats which they would receive.

It was all about keeping up appearances. Maintaining the illusion. Standing within the classroom once more, Lorrik wondered how he ever fell for it to begin with. Then he remembered the sanctum provided by such an illusion. For years, the lie persisted with no one to challenge it. There was evidence for all whom were willing to look. But no one was willing. There were no sinister powers at work, no mental domination beyond the exploiting of the acolytes' dedication to the belief. The belief that to challenge the status quo would be the end of them, that it would sever the only chance they had at becoming an apprentice. It was easier to follow, rather than risk losing what little life they possessed.

"Excuse me, we got a notice saying there was class today," a female voice rang out from the room's entrance. Turning around, Lorrik saw a gathering of acolytes outside the classroom's entrance, headed by a familiar face belonging to a once friendly blonde.

"Jora!" Lorrik welcomed, spreading his arms out wide. Jora offered only an arched brow as she hesitantly entered the room, the other inquisitors-in-training following her. The female Human stopped short of accepting Lorrik's embrace, staring the apprentice up and down as he eventually lowered his arms.

"Lorrik? What are you doing here?" Jora asked.

"Well, me and my partner here will be acting as substitute instructors for today's lessons," Lorrik answered, turning his attention to the entering students. "Everyone. Everyone. Please. Take your seats."

The acolytes hesitantly took their places amongst the tiered rows on either side of the lectern. The majority of the class' makeup was Human, with a few humanoid species filling out the remaining spots.

"So, this is what apprenticeship looks like," Jora said, still standing in front of her former classmate. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you always talk about how cool it would be when you finally got to wear a robe with a hood?"

Lorrik let out a soft chuckle as he patted down his black, form-fitting robes. "What can I say? Things change," Lorrik warmly stated.

"They certainly do," Jora replied. "Honestly, what are you doing here? I can't imagine our instructor sanctioned this. Especially after what your friend here did."

As if on cue, one of the last students to enter the classroom was another familiar face to the two apprentices. Human. Male. Even after all these months, same slicked back blonde hair, same snidely face. Ornell Barath. As he made his way into the room, the Human looked past Jora to see his former classmate offer an even more confused arch of his brow than the one Lorrik had received earlier. Then, he looked past Lorrik to see Jresh, coldly staring into his eyes with a piercing sternness.

Ornell's body immediately tensed, frozen in place as he saw the Pureblood raise his hand. Both parties remembered each and every minute detail of their last confrontation. It was more than a year ago, in the early days of Lorrik and Jresh's apprenticeship, and yet the memory was clear as day. Jresh withdrew a finger, leaving only four raised, slowly counting down the number of seconds Ornell had to leave his sight. The acolyte had not forgotten the ultimatum the warrior had last left him with, and promptly turned on his heels and walked out the door.

Lorrik turned to his companion before looking at the departing acolyte. "Hey Jresh, start without me. I'll be back in a minute."

"Lorrik, you-"

"Don't worry. It'll be fine. Trust me," Lorrik said as he made his way toward the classroom's exit.

"What should I talk about?" Jresh asked, his stoicism faltering.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Lorrik shouted as he turned the corner into the Academy halls. As Jora took her seat amongst the other acolytes, all eyes were upon the warrior. Silence persisted as the Pureblood panned his gaze across the gathered students unsure of how to proceed.

Outside, Lorrik rushed to catch up with Ornell before he could move too far. With a quick shout and wave of his hand, he managed to catch the acolyte, who came to a stop, but not before letting out a heavy sigh.

"What are you doing here, Lorrik?" Ornell harshly asked as he turned to face his pursuer.

"I'm getting that a lot today," Lorrik joked as he caught his breath. "We're here to teach in your instructor's absence."

"As unlikely it is that he even gave your permission to do so, why would I bother listening to you prattle on about whatever nonsense you find significant?" Ornell asked. "Why should I care about anything you have to say? Hmm? You think that you're something special just because some nobody Sith Lord made you his apprentice? You don't know how unlucky you are. After you left, a real Sith Lord came to speak with us. He even forced your master to submit. Since then, our training has increased tenfold. Before he left, he told the instructors how to unlock our potential. We may still be acolytes, but we are not the weaklings you think us to be!"

"Yeah, I know," Lorrik bluntly stated to a confused Ornell. "You may look the same, wear the same clothes, possess the same sparkling personality, but I recognize the strength you possess."

"Oh! Praise the emperor!" Ornell sarcastically declared. "The great Lorrik Velash recognizes my strength! That make it all worth it! The pain! The hardship! The fact that my hand still hasn't properly healed from when that monster snapped my fingers!" The acolyte thrust his right hand towards Lorrik's face, showing the hardened cast that encased it.

"I didn't know broken fingers took that long to heal."

"Well, it's not like the Academy has the best medical facilities," Ornell declared. "Couple that with the fact that I get my hand smashed with a training saber every single practice bout… yeah, you can see why it's not in prime condition."

There was a pause before Lorrik let out a soft chuckle. "I guess we're not as different as we once thought," Lorrik stated as he raised his right hand. The acolyte's eyes grew wide as he gazed upon the other inquisitor's cracked hand. For once, Ornell was speechless.

The two Sith lowered their hands, and shared a moment of silence as their eyes locked together. Without a word, Lorrik took hold of the acolyte's injured hand and began loosening the cast's fasteners. Ornell winced as the glove passed over his finger before finally being removed. Dropping the cast, Lorrik took hold of the other inquisitor's hand, straightening the acolyte's fingers. The acolyte attempted to pull away, but the other Human maintained his grip.

A soft luminance began to emit from Lorrik's left palm, and soon the glow enveloped both of the students' hands. Before Ornell could speak, he was consumed by a sharp pain as he felt the bones in his hand shift and mend. Slowly, the pain subsided, until he felt only relief. The light grew dim and Lorrik loosened his grip, causing the acolyte to rip his hand free of the other Human's grasp. Examining his hand closely, he offered only confusion as he found no trace of the injuries that had once plagued him.

"What did you do?" Ornell asked, almost with a sense of wonder.

"Really? I thought it was fairly obvious," Lorrik joked.

"But why?"

"Because I could," Lorrik answered. "Isn't that why we do the things we do, Ornell? Because we can? To serve no greater purpose? To act only in our self-interest? After all, that's what it means to be a Sith, right? Or, perhaps it isn't. Perhaps there's more to our tenure at the Academy than our mere survival. Perhaps we can find strength in ourselves, as well as each other. Perhaps we can rise up without knocking one another down."

"You know things don't work that way…"

"Do I? If I recall correctly, is was not me who mangled your hand, but my partner. His strength is mine, and mine his. We possess a bond that has lifted us above whatever we could have possibly achieved as individuals. As much as you can't stand to believe it, I am not weak, neither physically nor emotionally. I do not wish to extol or to tout my methods or my ideals. I simply wish to impart upon you and your classmates information that I possess, that you all deserve, and that I wish I had acquired much, much sooner. You can walk away, and there's a chance we'll never see each other again. You can continue on like you always have with the added luxury of two completely functioning hands. Or you can sit down and listen, to a man who has seen more in the last two years than he has in his entire lifetime. The choice is yours."

With that, Lorrik turned and walked away. Ornell stood motionless as he watched the other inquisitor return to the classroom. As his gaze drifted toward the floor, it was interrupted with the sight of his right hand, free to move and contort how he wished without fear of pain or discomfort. The acolyte let out a hefty sigh before following the other inquisitor.

Lorrik entered the classroom to see a room of silent acolytes, their attention completely focused on the Pureblood that acted in front of the lectern. His saber out and ignited, the warrior demonstrated a series of quick jabs and thrusts toward an invisible target.

"Finally, knowing that the beast had Lorrik in his sights, I thrust the saber through its gut and carved up through its chest," Jresh said, in a manner more befitting a scientist reciting an equation rather than an invested storyteller. Seeing his companion's return, the Pureblood disengaged his weapon and offered a dutiful nod. The class of acolytes turned their heads in unison to see the other apprentice enter.

"So, you two actually got to explore a tomb?" Jora asked her former classmate, sufficiently impressed with the idea.

"Well, there wasn't much exploring to be done," Lorrik joked. As the acolytes murmured amongst themselves, they quickly gave way to silence as Ornell entered the classroom. As Lorrik approached the lectern in the center of the room, he offered a gentle pat on his partner's shoulder. "It's okay, he deserves to be here for this."

"As you wish," Jresh stoically offered. "If you have forgiven his transgressions, I will as well. But I will not hesitate to break him again for any future misdeeds."

Lorrik and Jresh stood side by side in the center of the room as the last acolyte took his seat. The eyes of nine acolytes now fell upon them. Silence griped the cold chamber, each student patiently awaiting what was to come. Some with intrigue. Some with dissent. The rest with confusion.

"I guess it's now or never," Lorrik stealthily thought to his companion.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll do fine," Jresh mentally replied.

"What? So I'm supposed to do this alone?" Lorrik thought, half joking, half worried.

"You were once one of them. Anything they need to hear, they need to hear from you and you alone," Jresh advised. The Pureblood took a step from his companion and make his way toward one of the sitting areas. "Not only that, but your words must carry the weight of a man capable of standing on his own. It is easy to speak with a warrior at your side. Show them that you need neither my protection nor my presence."

"And what if that isn't true?"

"Then you are not the Lorrik I know," Jresh mentally declared as he found his new seat.

Lorrik gathered his thoughts and situated himself behind the central lectern. Gripping the sides of the stand, the apprentice bowed his head and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, the Human straightened his posture, finally exhaling only when he had determined himself ready to begin.

"Ten years," Lorrik softly spoke. "That's about how long we've been here right? Ten years. Stuck in this Academy. Forever awaiting the day we finally earn our chance at being… something more. Awaiting that fateful day, when someone takes notice, something uplifts us from a state of worthlessness. Because that's what being an acolyte is, isn't it? Others might see it as a privilege. But we know better, don't we? Then again, we really, really don't. Ten years. Ten years, and how many of us became apprentices? How many of us ascended? For that matter, how many of us fell? None. The Korriban Academy. A place where the strong survive, and the weak perish. And yet, in ten years, how much has truly changed? How many of us stood on the precipice of expulsion, of exile, only to somehow redeem ourselves in the eyes of the instructors just in time? The Academy we know is not the Academy that births great Sith. It is not the Academy that mothers and fathers pray their sons and daughters worthy of admission. It is not the Academy worth our countless hours of pain and misery. For it is a fabrication. A cheap knockoff. A lie perpetuated by the old sustained by the blind faith of the young. I have seen the real Academy, and we are not welcome within it."

Murmurs and hushed whispers began to circulate amongst the acolytes.

"The real Korriban Academy is a sacred institution," Lorrik continued. "One based on timeless traditions and rigid structure. Where acolytes die each and every day at the hands of one another, until only the most worthy of Sith remain. But before their trials even begin, these acolytes are measured, held up to the standards set by those in power. That only those of pure blood should even receive the privilege of shedding it on this planet. There is no tolerance for aliens… for slaves… for outcasts. No tolerance… for any of us. These classrooms? The warriors? Your fellow inquisitors? Many do not even know of their existence. And those who do, tolerate them only because of who established the classrooms in the first place."

"And who would that be?" Ornell asked.

"Two men. My master, Lord Syrosk. And your benefactor, Darth Tash," Lorrik informed. The murmurs and whispered transitioned to a muffled clamor as the acolytes looked to one another in disbelief.

"You mean that alien Lord was actually plucking students from his own classrooms?" Ornell continued.

"They were his no longer," Lorrik stated. "They hadn't been ever since he and Tash parted ways shortly after we were all brought to Korriban. They possessed a difference in… ideals. So Tash was left with the eighty or so Force-sensitive children they had gathered to do with as he wished."

"And what exactly would that be?" Ornell asked.

"I'm afraid only one man knows the answer to that," Lorrik answered.

"That doesn't make any sense," Jora interrupted. "He held an assembly, all of the students and instructors were there. Even your master showed up to challenge him. Why would Tash wait so long to reveal himself? Why would Syrosk not reveal his true intentions then?"

"Perhaps because he was afraid such an action would endanger himself, his students, or even you," Lorrik offered. "We were in the wastes of Korriban on a trial when Tash visited the Academy. Those two are far too invested in the future to truly act in the present. Two mortal enemies, face to face, and yet they could do little more than ineffectively test one another."

"If my memory serves, your master was forced to his knees during the encounter," Ornell stated.

"Such was relayed to me," Lorrik admitted. "Syrosk either underestimated Tash, or overestimated himself. In the end, the encounter served to display Tash's prowess, and likely won the hearts and minds of the many acolytes who watched the scene unfold. Am I too far off?" Ornell scrunched his face as he leaned back crossing his arms, finding some truth in the apprentice's words. "That day was a turning point for you all. You got to witness firsthand the power of a Darth. What's better is that he took an interest in all of you. He provided you the light amongst the darkness you had all been waiting for. He promised strength. He promised something more. He promised to put an end to the miserable days of being a mere acolyte."

"And you're here to tell us that was all nonsense, right?" Ornell replied.

"No, because I cannot say for a fact that Tash does not intend to follow through with his promises," Lorrik admitted. "The reason I am here is to offer guidance."

"You still serve Syrosk correct?" Ornell continued. "That rather skews your objectivity, does it not?"

"I am not here to further his goals beyond the one he possessed when he sought each and every one of you out, plucked you from whatever miserable lives you possessed, and offered you a chance that would otherwise never be afforded to you," Lorrik explained. "His master had afforded him an opportunity despite his perceived impurity, and sought to offer that same opportunity to the next generation of Sith. But while I value his intentions, I find myself questioning his methods as much as Tash's. So I speak to you all today, not on behalf of any master, and not as your better, but as a contemporary, as an equal, as a man who thought he had broken free of his shackles only to realize he still remained chained to a series of events that stretched back before he had even begun his training, before he had even been born. I cannot tell you all your purpose. I cannot tell you all what Tash intends. I can only tell you that you all deserve more. That you deserve your freedom."

"Our freedom?" Jora asked.

"Yes. That should be your goal. That is what every Sith should strive for," Lorrik declared. "All the strength, all the knowledge in the galaxy, will do you no good so long as you are not free. For the past ten years, each and every step we have been forced to take has not been to our benefit, but to serve the interests of those who lord themselves over us. We have been taught that the only way to rise, is for others to fall. But that is not true. We constantly seek the approval of our superiors rather than the support of our fellows. One person's strength and knowledge is not reliant on the failure of another's. And yet we claw at one another, drag each other down rather than see them leave us behind. Because we idolize those who came before us. Deify those who hold rank over us. We willingly give up our freedoms in the hopes that they convey some fraction of their power unto us, only to deal with their lies and mistruths as they withhold their wisdom and secrets. It is a problem that not only plagues these classrooms, but the Sith Order as a whole. They value only the individual, without realizing that as a group, the individual's potential can truly be realized. Differing ideologies, backgrounds, species… everything we're told should divide us, actually provides us the chance at becoming greater. Expanding our horizons, challenging us in ways we thought not possible. All without the aid of a master, all without sacrificing ourselves for the sake of our 'betters'."

"So, that really is your lesson? That we should play nice?" Ornell asked.

Lorrik let out a soft chuckle. "The lesson is that the men and women who sit around you are capable of teaching you far more than any instructor or master. The man I entered with, his name is Jresh Takuul. A warrior. As acolytes, we joined Syrosk as mere training partners. Now, he is the most important person in my life." The class of acolytes turned their heads to look upon the stoic warrior who sat patiently with his arms crossed, gaze devotedly affixed to his companion. "But in these past few months, we have broken one another's bodies time and time again. Shed each other's blood. Cracked each other's bones. We challenge one another, so that we might both become the best we can be. We are Sith. All of us. We persevere, and grow through challenge. That much remains constant, and that much I would never ask you to abandon. But challenging one another is not dependent on hatred and animosity. Cooperative antagonism. Selfless selfishness. That is how myself and the other apprentices of Syrosk have grown strong, strong enough to even challenge a Sith Lord. That, and the bonds we have forged with our partners. Complementing one another, filling in the gaps in our defenses, acting as a single entity, our minds and spirits connected with one another. Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, power. Through power, victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall set me free. What I propose is not peace. It is a chance for you to better yourselves on your own terms. It is one of many paths available to you, and it is far from the simplest or the easiest. But if followed, can yield strength, power, victory, and ultimately… freedom. For even though you will come to rely on each other, you shall be bound by no one's will but your own. No lords. No masters. The next generation of Sith."

"But what do we do about Tash?" Jora asked.

"That is for you to decide," Lorrik stated. "I offer guidance and nothing more, lest I become as controlling as Tash or Syrosk. You've been granted unprecedented insight. Me and the other apprentices are only visiting half the classrooms and possess no unified message. It is up to you whether you wish to share the information you've been given today. At this moment, there is little you could do to truly challenge Tash's establishment. But you have also moved past the point in which his instructors have anything more to teach you. So you find yourselves trapped, as per the norm in the Academy. Tash still has his plans. Tash still maintains control of the classrooms. From this point forward, it is not a matter of how you act, but whom you act for. An inquisitor knows that action and inaction are equal sides of the same coin. It's just up to you to make the most of your future… to make the most of the present. It's not about who wins. It's not about who loses. It's about ensuring that in the end, you have your own place in the galaxy. That you never sacrifice your freedom. And if you ever intend to strip someone of theirs, know that you will be met with a fight unlike any other. That is your lesson. Class dismissed."

As Lorrik stepped away from the lectern and Jresh lifted himself from his seat, the surrounding acolytes looked to one another seeking something, anything in the eyes of their contemporaries. But all they found were blank stares and silence. The inquisitor's words stirred in their heads as they looked to one another in a brand new fashion. They recognized their new position within the Academy, despite sitting in the same position they had for years. Still acolytes. Still lacking the freedom they deserved as Sith. Still worthless in the eyes of their superiors. But someone had found worthiness in them, and for all the time they spent apart, through all the changes, he was still one of them. An equal. One who desired nothing more from them but that they see their potential realized. That they earn the freedom they rightfully deserve.

Lorrik offered the class a quick bow of his head and a wave of the hand as he exited the classroom as briskly as he had entered, Jresh walking by his side.

* * *

Lorrik and Jresh made their way out of the old halls, their task for the day completed. A confidence flourished within the two apprentices, despite neither of them truly knowing what impact they had left on the class of inquisitors. They had left a message. Both of them had, despite Lorrik's speech making up the majority of their interaction.

They had spoken to them, not only through words, but through their very presence. They pulsed with energies unlike anything the acolytes had experienced before. They spoke of an unseen world that had been kept from them, a world of endless possibilities they had been blind to. A contaminant had breached the classroom's once pristinely controlled environment. Something new had been introduced into the equation. Entropy. Chaos. The unknown. Aspects that to any other could only culminate fear and hatred. But in these students, in these Sith, they knew better.

For all their time spent wallowing under the instructors who guided and misguided them, there was knowledge to be absorbed. Lessons to heed. For all the rubbish it had been buried beneath, the idea of what it truly meant to be a Sith could not be wholly quelled. They desired strength. They desired power. They desired freedom. And they just learned that the only hope towards attaining them that had been drilled into their heads had been an elaborate ruse.

They were the outcasts, the freaks, the worthless. They had always known themselves to be at the bottom of the hierarchy, but the chance to ascend was always said to be within their reach. But it was a lie. And yet, it remained the absolute truth. They simply required a change in focus. Looking inward, instead of outward for relief, for that glorious moment in which someone would finally take notice of their worth. For that moment would never come, so long as they continued to play the games of their controllers. That moment would only come, when they decided that the only person capable of lifting them from their wretches position was themselves.

They knew that Tash did, in fact, possess the ability to free them from the clutches of the Academy. He could easily offer them apprenticeship, offer them a fighting chance within the Order outside the Academy halls. But he could just as easily crush them were they incapable of standing on their own. And from this day forward, they would stand. Some alone. Some amongst friends. Some amongst lovers. But all of them would stand. They may not immediately cast off the shackles that have been made apparent. They may not confide their newfound cognizance to those who sought their submission. They may not act, until absolutely necessary. But all of them would stand.

Back at the suite, Lorrik and Jresh settled down, resting themselves despite the relative ease in which they had completed the day's trial. Relaxing in the living area, the inquisitor sat at his desk whilst the warrior meditated in the center of the room.

"Hey Jresh, what do you want for dinner?" Lorrik asked.

"I'm fine with whatever you decide to make," Jresh replied, focused on his meditations. The Human cracked a subtle smile. It was always the same answer, but it still managed to delight him each and every time he heard it.

Cracking his knuckles, the inquisitor felt odd as his two hands interlocked, two different sensations overtaking his fingers. The numbness had almost begun to fade from his right hand, but it showed no signs of returning to normal. It felt, but it did not provide the normal feelings he would receive from his left. An odd cognizance, incapable of pleasure nor pain, but capable of sending signals. And as much as the thought of regaining control of the injured hand was, he still found himself perturbed by its appearance.

Ducking into his room, Lorrik began to rummage through his closet. He saw a quick snapshot of the progression he had achieved as the various outfits he had worn over the past years hung before him. The simple gray robes of the acolyte. The black and purple inquisitor's robes gifted by Syrosk. The spare black and blue attire of his own devising. Returning to the clothes of old, Lorrik retrieved a pair of leather gloves, and slipped them over his hands. It was a petty thing, but there was a delight to found in the reestablishment of symmetry.

Plopping onto his bed, the inquisitor stared upward toward the ceiling, much as he would as an acolyte. His eyes remained open as he continued to stare toward nothingness, his own form of meditation. There was no introspection, no wisdom to dwell upon, but it brought peace, however fleeting.

Time passed. Dinner came and went. Lorrik had cooked himself and his partner a conservative meal of cooked meat and vegetables. No want for experimentation or pizzazz. A meal of sustenance. One that served Jresh just fine. For Lorrik, it wasn't the best, but his mind was as far away from food as it could be. His thoughts drifted to his former classmates, the words he imparted upon them. He wondered about the future. About himself and Jresh. About Tash. About Thorel.

As day turned to night, Jresh retired for the evening. As the warrior slept, the inquisitor remained wide awake. Removing himself from his bed, still garbed in the day's attire, Lorrik slipped out the suite, and into the halls of the Academy.


	91. 3-15 Burdens

**Chapter Fifteen: Burdens**

Outside the Academy, the Korriban sun had long since set, leaving only the darkened sky above. The various trials of acolytes and apprentices had ended, only those with the most brutal masters continuing their training into the night. A lone figure made his way out of the Academy and down the steps that rest between him and the facility's main landing pad. Under the dead of night, the figure walked under the watchful eye of the Imperial Guardsmen who remained at their posts. As the figure made his way toward his intended destination, the tail of his coat bobbed with each step, its red fibers almost touching the dusty ground beneath his feet.

As the man continued his casual pace, he came to a stop a short distance away from the docked shuttle that awaited him.

"Lorrik," the figure said with a subtle delight. "Didn't think I'd meet you out here."

Stepping from the shadows surrounding the shuttle, Lorrik revealed himself to the figure. "Vai. I thought our last meeting ended rather abruptly."

"Indeed it did. Quite a shame that was," Thorel replied. The vibrant Human altered his course, moving to the side of the docked shuttle. Rather than approach its hatch, he planted his feet and began to casually lean against the vessel's hull. "So. What can I do for you?"

"I just thought I would catch you before you left," Lorrik stated. "After all who knows when you're coming back?"

"Yeah, who knows?" Thorel offered with a chuckle. "That was a pretty interesting stunt you pulled today, meeting with the students whilst I distracted the instructors. Was that your idea or Syrosk's?"

"Syrosk's. Should have known that wouldn't pass beneath your notice," Lorrik jocularly stated.

Thorel laughed. "How could it? You should have seen the face of your instructor when he ran up to me, telling me you were interfering with his students. I asked him what you did exactly, and he had no idea. He just fumed at the idea of you messing with his students, an idea he hadn't even confirmed."

"Always happy to hear when I leave an impression," Lorrik joked.

"What did you end up telling them anyway?"

"Nothing they didn't need to hear."

"I suppose that's fair," Thorel declared, rubbing his chin. "You know, even after all this, the offer still stands. We'd still be happy to have you."

"As I recall, you never officially made me and Jresh an offer."

"That's right, you had that fake fight with Syrosk and asked me to leave before I had the chance."

"To be fair, it was only half-fake. I meant everything I said. I may have oversold the emotions, I admit, but nothing I said was a lie."

"So you continue to follow Syrosk, knowing that he will continue to be controlled by his visions."

"The time for following had passed," Lorrik declared. "I've learned many things over these last ten years. From teachers and teachings. From you. From my partner. From myself. But my sole purpose is not to learn. I may be a student, but I am also a teacher. I may not impart ancient wisdoms or combat techniques, but the knowledge I am able to pass on can serve anyone, master or apprentice, Lord or acolyte. And that is the lesson that has taken the longest to sink in. Each and every Sith, from their initiation to their death, is judged by their worth. Not by their peers, but by themselves. We seek knowledge and power to better ourselves, and once we've finally achieved some semblance of authority, we lord it over our lessers, because it reminds us that we are worth something. Because all our lives, we have been taught that we are worthless. Even amongst non-Force-sensitives. Because we are never satisfied. Because worthiness is forever beyond our reach. The acolyte is worthless next to the apprentice. The apprentice is worthless next to the lord. The lord is worthless next to the Darth. The Darth is worthless next to the Emperor. And so we assign worth in everything but ourselves. We heed the word of our masters, because we believe they possess something we do not. We follow visions, because we believe them to be worth following. But not once do we look to ourselves. Not once do we look to our equals. How could those without worth possibly provide us anything? So we look up. To our masters. To our visions. Each and every one of us. You think Syrosk a slave? We all are. Each and every one of us. Each and every Sith. What is it that your master ultimately desires? Do you even know? Does he even know? We tell ourselves we know what we want, but do we really?"

"And what is it you think you desire?" Thorel asked.

"Freedom," Lorrik answered. "The freedom to wake up, and know that my life is in my own hands. The freedom to pursue my own goals, not those of whomever would dictate themselves my superior. The freedom… to be with Jresh, and know that I won't hurt him because I was too blind to see what was truly important. I sweated, bled, I died, because I wanted nothing more than to become better, because that's what I thought it took to earn my freedom. But I realized, I'll never be able to break my chains, so long as people like Tash exist. I once thought him some villain, some unique entity that stood between me and my freedom. But he's just another in a long line of Sith who would sacrifice his fellows for personal gain. Even if he were to die, another would take his place. Another controller. Another unseen, unheard figure that would hold more sway over my life than I would. That's why this is no longer about Tash. No longer about Syrosk. That is why I spoke with my former classmates. Because I tire of masters. I know that I cannot change the Empire. I know that I cannot oppose those in power. But I can do everything in my power to make sure the next generation of Sith does not fall victim to them. I can teach them. I can tell them all that I have learned, and hope they make the most of it. You want to know what I told those students? I told them of the man who brought them to the Academy. I told them of the man who keeps them here. I told them, for all the power he possesses, he is worthless to them. I told them, that regardless of what they've been taught to believe, they are not worthless. That they could learn from and teach one another more than any Lord could."

"And why tell me any of this?" Thorel asked.

"Because I believe you to be someone of worth. Someone who deserves so, so much more," Lorrik admitted. "And most importantly, someone who is not above being given advice from someone like me."

"And what advice would that be?"

"What manner of men were Syrosk and Tash to you?" Lorrik put forth. "Teachers. Masters. Tash taught you everything you needed to know about a saber. Syrosk honed your mental skills. They both provided for you, but you were willing to strip one of everything he cared about at the word of the other. Syrosk saw his own death at the hands of his only friend, and you thought him a foolish Seer, unwilling to disregard some fleeting vision. A vision from a man who had just sent you across the galaxy to seek Force-sensitive children with utmost precision. A vision that detailed the betrayal of a man who now not only held his life in his hands, but the lives of dozens of acolytes. And you would continue to follow Tash with the same faith Syrosk placed in his visions? I know that you're better than that. The day you took me away from the mines, you made a profound impact on me, same as the other students. You had a part to play in the people we are today. But your master still only considers the eight of us worthy of his attention, whilst the acolytes in his classrooms remained trapped in their indeterminate fate. You can't think them worthless. You met each and every one of them. You brought them here at the behest of Syrosk and Tash. Now, your master holds total control over them. But I will not stand for it. And if I know you as well as I think I do, you won't stand for it either."

Thorel crossed arms as he stared at the inquisitor under the darkened sky. The two locked their gazes, standing silently amongst the shadow of night. Without a word, Thorel straightened his posture, removing himself from the shuttle's hull. Straightening his coat, the Human turned his back on the inquisitor, heading toward the ship's hatch.

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do," Thorel declared as he placed a foot on the vessel's entrance ramp.

"Maybe I don't," Lorrik admitted. "Then again, maybe you don't either."

Thorel offered one final silent look, his features hidden under the darkness of night, before finally boarding the shuttle. Lorrik turned back toward the Academy as the vessel lifting itself from the landing pad, slowly ascending toward the sky. Walking under the dark cover of night, the lone Human softly whistled a gentle tune as he returned home.

* * *

The sun shined high over the Korriban landscape. It was a new day, and the apprentices had gathered to their master on the traditional mountaintop. The eight of them stood tall, confident in their performance on the previous trial. And little as he could show it with his seemingly permanent scowl, Syrosk was satisfied with them as well.

"My apprentices," Syrosk rasped. "I have heard word of your interaction with Tash's classrooms. Each and every one of you seems to have delivered a sufficient message without overstepping your bounds." The apprentices stirred with pride as they absorbed their master's admirations.

"Curious," Kar'ai said. "I had bet we'd show up today to hear Nesk knocked some acolyte's teeth out." The Trandoshan offered a sideways glance to the bemused Rattataki, but ultimately maintained his composure.

"You have all learned much," Syrosk declared. "You have progressed. Matured. No longer bound by the ideas of warriors and inquisitors. No longer bound by the ideas of acolytes and apprentices. You now stand apart from other Sith limited by their own preconceived notions. You've grown strong. You've developed bonds. I am proud of you all."

The apprentices were pleased to received their master's respect, but the inherent positivity that accompanied it was definitely odd.

"You okay, Syrosk?" Arlia asked with the tilt of her head. "You're not dying or anything are you?"

"No, my apprentice, I am fine. In fact, I'd say I've never been more alive," Syrosk declared. "Which is why it is a good day to continue your combat training. Tash's apprentice has departed from the Academy. His classrooms proceed as usual, only now with the added influence each of you has planted. Whatever consequences come from your intrusion will takes days, weeks, to unfold. For now, we train. Same as before. Well, not exactly as before…" The Sith Lord's eyed slowly drifted across his apprentices until they affixed themselves upon the Human amongst them. "Lorrik. You're body has still not recovered. You're dismissed for the day."

The others looked to the inquisitor, who stood befuddled next to his partner. "What are you talking about? I'm just fine."

"I don't need an apprentice who is 'just fine'," Syrosk explained. "You are far below your peak, and I'd not ask the other apprentices to lower themselves to your level for today's trial. It would serve no one, and only add more time to your recovery."

Lorrik dipped his head as his gaze fell to his feet. His spirits raised when he felt a comforting hand upon his shoulder. Turning, the inquisitor saw Jresh offering him a calm, confident look. No words, but enough to communicate a message. Lorrik and Jresh needn't stand side by side to be together. Jresh could fight alone, and his partner would be with him in mind and spirit, bolstering him as well as any second saber would. The Human cracked a smile as he could feel his companion's concern for his own health. Concern that was bolstered with a belief that Lorrik was strong enough to overcome the affliction that prevented him from partaking in the day's training.

"Alright. I'll take the day off," Lorrik stated. "I think I'll hit up the archives. Might find something that can help expedite my recovery."

"Stay safe," Jresh advised, lifting his hand from his companion's shoulder. Lorrik offered a firm nod of his head as he turned his back on the other apprentices and walked toward the Academy. As he embarked upon the return path, he could hear his master detailing the other students' trial.

"You will each be dueling against one another, to gauge your skills and see who is lagging in their training…"

* * *

Back in the Academy, Lorrik walked amongst the institution's true halls. Imperial Guardsmen guarded the pathways to each major sector, and Imperials and Sith alike went about their business. Keeping to himself, the inquisitor traversed the Academy, heading toward the public archives.

Ascending a flight of stairs, the apprentice came across a series of connected rooms containing a number of holocrons and datacards, housing within them the litany of information afforded to the denizens of Korriban. Sith of various levels and ranks stood amongst the archives, studying the various wisdoms and tomes that had been gathered and recorded. Acolytes. Apprentices. Sith Lords. All delving into the words and musings of scholars and historians.

Walking amongst strangers, Lorrik rearranged his robes' collar, making sure it continued to cover the slave's brand that marked the back of his neck. An elder Human stood opposite the apprentice, garbed in a simplistic set of black robes, cataloging a nearby shelf of datacards. Lorrik approached the archivist, maintaining the sense that he truly belonged amongst the other Sith.

"Excuse me, I'm looking information regarding holocrons," Lorrik stated. The archivist heard the apprentice's words, but did nothing to divert his attention from the nearby shelf.

"You're going to have to be more specific," the archivist declared with a low, droning tone.

"Alright, uh… mechanics, origins, maybe something about Rakatan artifacts."

"All Rakatan materials were recently checked out by Lord Ra'kus," the archivist explained. "All data pertaining to artifacts can be found in the east wing, first level."

"What about histories of the Sith? Or maybe just Korriban?"

"East wing, second level."

Lorrik offered his thanks, and received a soft grumble in return. The apprentice headed toward the archive's eastern wing. The walls were completely lined with shelves containing repositories of Sith knowledge. It was a wonderful sight. As mundane as the archives were to normal entrants to the Academy, Lorrik had spent much of his life without such a source. The students in Tash's classroom didn't have free reign over anything. Training sabers had to be check out and used under supervision. Knowledge was restricted to certain materials approved by the instructors.

Lorrik paced in front of the archives, unsure where to begin, unsure what he was even looking for in the first place. He began pulling datacards, moving between sections, between levels, collecting a small assortment of knowledge that might shed some light on his affliction. Using one of the archive's readers, the inquisitor tucked himself away in a corner, to pour over the gathered records.

Minutes turned to hours as Lorrik scanned the lines of data. He delved into the construction and maintenance of holocrons, looking for some insight into the intricacies of the one he procured from the tomb. But the only knowledge he had at his fingertips was the most basic of instructions. He had more advanced records back at the suite. The inquisitor turned to history, looking to the first Dark Jedi to arrive on Korriban. And history proved unkind. Of all the individuals responsible for the modern Sith Order, only a select few had their names committed to record, most others fading to obscurity. He looked to ancient dark side techniques, finding nothing resembling the darkness that warped his hand.

Lorrik had found out nothing. Nothing that could help him restore his hand. Nothing about what had caused the affliction in the first place. The day had gone to waste. While Jresh and the others fought one another, he sat alone in a worthless archive. While they advanced, he had nothing to show for the day. With a heavy heart, Lorrik returned the gathered datacards to their proper place and turned in his borrowed reader.

His thoughts drifted to his partner. He could sense that the day's trials were not yet completed. He could feel the pain his companion endured, the fiery drive in his heart to continue. He could feel the weight of his foes beating down upon him even as he stood far beyond the reach of battle. It was a feeling of simultaneous greatness and dismay. He was proud of Jresh. The warrior continued to fight, despite the wound he had inflected upon his leg. Meanwhile, the inquisitor's pain had fled, leaving only a dulled sensation in its place. And yet, he could not fight. But he knew he would have to. He knew he had to stand up and fight, because that's all that there was left to do. His voice had reached the ears of his former classmates, but at this moment, his reach was limited to what he could grasp in his hands.

Departing the archives after hours of fruitless searching, Lorrik began to wander the halls of the Academy, no particular destination in mind. He did not desire a trip to the training grounds, lest he strain his newfound relationship with Syrosk. He did not desire a trip to the suite, let he resign the rest of his day to complacent rest. But he needed rest. For his body, as well as his mind. The Human could sense his partner's emotional state, so it was likely Jresh could sense his as well. All the worry, all the confusion that plagued his mind would begin to affect his companion. In his want to not become a burden, that was exactly what he would become if he could not overcome the thoughts swirling within his head.

And so he decided. Lorrik could not allow himself to be dominated by his own fears and concerns. He closed his eyes. Concentrated. Felt a wave of relief wash away the burden, lifting his heart and providing him a sense of peace. A sense of peace, that was instantly shattered when he felt a powerful strike connect with the back of his head.

Lorrik fell forward to the ground, head reeling. Looking at his immediate surroundings, he quickly realized he had ventured well beyond the Academy's front halls. He had crossed into the depths of labyrinthine walkways and muffled echoes. He had lost track of time as well as his own position. But only a moment of attention could be devoted to such developments, as one factor took immediate precedence. A factor as serious as it was familiar.

"Seriously. Why do people think you can just hit someone in the back of the head and knock them out?" Lorrik muttered as he struggled to lift himself from the floor.

"Who said I was trying to knock you out?" The voice was new. One Lorrik had never heard before. Male. Older. Gruff. Cocky. The felled Human flipped himself over to see four Sith standing before him. Humans garbed in black, form-fitting robes, lightsabers clipped to their belts. "Lorrik Velash. Your time has come."

"Who are you?" Lorrik asked, carefully shuffling backward upon the floor.

"We are Sith. Which is something a worthless slave like you will never be able to say," the group's leader stated. Reaching to his waist, the Human leading the group drew his lightsaber, igniting its crimson beam.

* * *

The red saber of Isorr came down hard against Jresh's guard, but the Pureblood managed to maintain his stance. The two combated, clashing before taking a step back and clashing again. The two powerhouses practically shook the ground beneath them each time they connected, two unstoppable forces meeting with the clash of blades. As the two duelists connected once more, Jresh pulled away, lowering his guard as a flurry of emotions intruded upon his mind.

"Come on, Jresh," Isorr taunted. "Don't tell me you're getting tired already?"

The Pureblood ignored his opponent. The words had not even reached his ears, as his mind was too occupied by the worrisome feelings overtaking his insides. He knew something was wrong. He knew Lorrik was in trouble. Jresh disengaged, sheathing his weapon and fleeing the arena to the peculiar glances of the surrounding apprentices. He could not speak. He could only run. Ignoring the sharp pain that overtook his right leg with each step, the Pureblood rushed toward the Academy, running faster than he ever had before.

* * *

"How did you know I was a slave?" Lorrik asked, trying to stall the aggressors as he lifted himself from the ground.

"We've known about you for a long time," the leader declared. "In fact, we've know about all the students that occupy the underhalls. Rejects. Outcasts. Slaves. Aliens. Impurities. Beings unworthy of the title of Sith. But for some reason, you all operated under same rules as the rest of us, meaning you were off limits. You couldn't be touched. So imagine my surprise, when we find out that some of you aren't afforded that protection any more. And yet, we hear you're still gallivanting around the Academy like you belong here? That didn't sit right will us."

"I'm sorry to upset your delicate sensibilities," Lorrik replied, slowly backing away. The apprentice could only take a few steps before he found himself backed against a wall.

"This isn't about sensibilities. This is about maintaining the integrity of the Sith," the leader declared. "We're not some acolytes looking to take down some rival. We're here to wipe the impurity from this institution, starting with you." Lorrik reached for his belt, retrieving his own lightsaber. With a flick of his wrist, the weapon ignited, shining its blue blade as the inquisitor raised his guard. "You really are a poor excuse for a Sith."

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment," Lorrik taunted. The Sith leader looked upon the inquisitor with abject disgust. The three Sith that accompanied him fanned out, taking position between the apprentice and the ways out of the hallway, blocking his escape.

Lorrik stood across from the group's leader, their eyes locked, their sabers at the ready. The inquisitor had never laid eyes upon this person before, and yet this man hated him more than any he had met. He knew nothing of his position, of his rank. He could have been a student of the Academy. Some Overseer's underling. A Sith Lord with a chip on his shoulder. But whomever he was, he intended to take the apprentice's life.

The leader aggressor rushed forward with a blinding pace, descending upon the inquisitor within the blink of an eye. Lorrik raised his saber to intercept as the red blade crashed down upon him. His foe possessed remarkable strength, more than a match for any of the other apprentices, and more than capable of overcoming the Human's weakened state. There was little room to maneuver within the compact hall, forcing Lorrik to remain within arm's reach of his foe. The aggressor continued his assault. He was done with words, he wanted nothing more than the apprentice's death.

Lorrik attempted to keep up with the attacker, but he lashed out unlike any he had faced before. He was used to training duels. This is the first time he felt his life truly in danger at the hands of a Sith. And with each clash of the blade, Lorrik felt himself losing control. He was fast becoming exhausted. One powerful strike later, and the inquisitor could no longer keep hold of his weapon. The lightsaber flung from his hand, deactivating and clattering against the hard floor.

The attacker lifted his victim with the Force, and flung him backward, pinning him against the nearby wall. Lorrik flattened against the surface and he felt a crushing pressure overtaking every part of his being. His chest couldn't expand to take in air. He slowly began to choke, unable to breathe.

"How does it feel to know your life rests in the hands of a true Sith?"

Just as the Sith was about to clench his victory, he heard a soft whisper a short distance behind him.

"B-Boss…"

It was the panicked voice of one of the underlings. The leader turned to see one of the men guarding the way out staring at him with wide eyes, gloved hands clutching his chin and the back of his head. He could only lock eyes with his underling for a moment before the hands twisted his head around, sending his lifeless body crumpling to the floor, revealing the red figure that stood behind him.

The Pureblood wore a penetrating scowl upon his face, his red eyes burning a hole into the leader's mind. The warrior stood adamant, every fiber of his being consumed by rage. The other two underlings moved from their position to intercept the Pureblood, igniting their lightsabers.

Jresh readied his weapon. The first to bring their blade down upon the warrior found it effortlessly deflected, leaving them completely open for the Pureblood to thrust weapon into his heart. The lackey fell to the ground beside the first, leaving only two standing. The group's leader relinquished his grip on the inquisitor to face the intruder. Lorrik fell from the wall, scurrying toward a corner as he struggled to catch his breath.

The third underling lashed out with a swing of his blade, only to for it to be parried by the Pureblood. The warrior followed up with a quick slash of his blade, severing the Sith's weapon hand. The lackey released a harsh shrill as he clutched at his charred stump. The noise was enough to distract the group's leader, who didn't even see the approaching backhand that would swiped his face and sent him tumbling to the floor.

The injured underling looked upon the warrior with a fearful dread, turning his back on the battle and fleeing down the hallway. He was only a few steps ahead before the Pureblood threw his saber with the flick of his wrist, sending the swirling blade toward his opponent. When the lightsaber reached its target, it swept itself across the Sith's back, bisecting him at the waist. The attack was accurate, but still sloppy, as the flying saber impacted against the wall rather than returning to its owner.

The leader was without his underlings, but he didn't need them. He rose to combat the weaponless foe, readying a powerful downward strike. Before he could connect, the Pureblood snapped his gaze toward the aggressor, taking a deep breath. Once more the two's eyes locked together. The attacker could not stop his strike, but the warrior's eyes told him he should have done everything in his power to give up. But it was too late.

Jresh was weaponless, not defenseless. He exhaled, releasing a primal shout backed by the full might of the Force. The blast struck the attacker, and sent him crashing into the wall behind him. The walls cracked from the force of the impact as the Sith collapsed upon the floor. He was defeated, but still alive. But that was not satisfactory. As the fallen Sith struggled to support his own weight beneath his arms, he found himself lifted up by the Pureblood. The warrior's hand clutched his foe's face, raising him higher until his feet dangled above the floor. Muffled whimpers struggled to escape the Sith's mouth, but the words were impeded by presence of the Pureblood's palm.

"How does it feel to know your life rests in the hands of a true Sith?" Jresh muttered through gritted teeth.

There was no answer to be heard as the warrior channeled the full might of the Force through his hand, a destructive wave of kinetic energy passing through his victim's skull and out the other side, staining the wall behind him. Jresh relinquished his grip, tossing the lifeless Sith to the ground.

In the corner of the hall, Jresh could see his partner curled into a ball, heart racing, drawing labored breaths.

* * *

Patrolling the halls of the Academy, an Imperial Guardsman passed through one of the institution's deeper pathways. Rounding a corner, the helmed sentinel saw a curious sight. At the end of the hallway, he could see a figure lying upon the ground, unmoving. Moving forward to investigate, it wasn't until he was upon the figure that he noticed that it was only half a man, his legs situated a couple meters behind him. Rounding another corner, the guardsman was greeted with a sight of death and destruction. Scorch marks lined the walls from errant lightsaber strikes. Blood lightly stained the floors where it had managed to pass through otherwise cauterized wounds.

Sitting amongst the scene however, were two living figures. Rushing to investigate, the guardsman found a Pureblood sitting beside a splotch of red upon a cracked segment of wall, a Human resting in his arms.


	92. 3-16 Exiles

**Chapter Sixteen: Exiles**

The room was silent. Dark. Claustrophobic. Jresh and Lorrik sat alone in a featureless chamber, behind a featureless table. A single light cast its dim luminescence on the solemn pair from above as they waited. Minutes turned to hours as the two apprentices awaited their fate after being left there by the Imperial Guardsman. Finally, the door opposite them opened, revealing the shadowed figure of their master.

Lord Syrosk entered the room with an unusually sluggish pace. Approaching his students, the light slowly revealed the alien's stoic visage. But behind their master's stoicism, rested a billowing emptiness. He stopped directly across from his apprentices, slowly passing his gaze from student to student before letting it fall to the table.

"I've spoken with the Academy administrators," Syrosk rasped, his voice softer than usual. "The men who attacked you were not students of the Academy. They were its staff."

Lorrik began to run his hands through his hair as he let out an exasperated breath, unsure of how to begin processing his master's words. Jresh, meanwhile, upheld his stoic demeanor, eyes planted somewhere on the distant wall.

"The man who led the attack was an Overseer," Syrosk explained. "And his death has caused some… concern. This is not something that goes without consequence."

"He was going to kill me," Lorrik bluntly said. "Are you honestly saying Jresh didn't do the right thing?"

"No, I am not," Syrosk replied. "I am merely clarifying the nature of the situation we find ourselves in. The Academy and its rules cannot be superseded. Not by me. Not even by Tash. He was granted permission to continue his operations so long as they did not interfere with those of the true Academy. I was granted similar permissions when I returned to take you as my apprentices. We are free to disrupt Tash's domain, but we cannot touch this institution's true denizens. Especially those responsible for its operation and the training of its initiates."

"They sought me out," Lorrik muttered. "Hunted me down. They knew my name. Knew who I was. Knew who we were."

"Many do," Syrosk admitted. "Tash's activities are no secret to those with any semblance of authority on this planet. They simply choose to ignore them, believing whatever scheme he is hatching with such impure students is doomed to fail. His acolytes were never considered true students of the Academy and have been here so long that they continue with little objection. It seems we are not afforded the same lack of observation. We've grown bold in recent months. I paid no concern to allowing you all to walk the grounds of the Academy. And I was so transfixed on our dealing with Tash that I couldn't notice any brewing dissent. And now we have suffered for it."

"I may be a bit banged up, but nothing serious," Lorrik said. "We can fix this. We've already talked to Tash's classrooms. We can scale back, operate beneath the notice of anyone like we used to."

"I'm afraid not," Syrosk declared. "A decision was reached. You have all been exiled from Korriban."

The apprentices' eyes widened.

"All of us?" Lorrik asked. "The other apprentices as well?

"Yes. You and the other six must leave. I am allowed stay, but I am forbidden to train you here."

The Human slumped in his chair. "Were being punished for defending ourselves. The Order that espouses strength is punishing us for trying to survive. We're worth more dead than alive to them."

"It was your capability that earned you exile rather than death," Syrosk explained. "Some would see your victory worthy of praise. Others worry that it sullies the reputation of the pure-blooded. In the end, none of them wish to see the Academy disrupted, regardless of the actor's nature or motivation."

"Where do we go from here?" Lorrik timidly asked.

"You've the day to gather your belongings and vacate your rooms," Syrosk stated. "I've managed to requisition shuttles offworld. We can relocate and continue our training elsewhere. Possibly Dromund Kaas or Ziost. Though we likely couldn't operate within one of the other Academies, we could train outside their boundaries. But first, the other apprentices must be informed of our situation." The Sith Lord turned his back on his apprentices and exited the compact room, pausing just outside the door. "I've been tasked with escorting you back to your room. You are to stay there until everyone is ready to leave tomorrow."

The apprentices rose from their seats, following their master without protest. There was nothing more to say or do. Judgment had been passed by those with actual say in the Order. They were now outcasts amongst outcasts.

* * *

Back in their home, the apprentices watched the door shut behind them. As Lord Syrosk left to address his other students, Lorrik and Jresh stood motionless amongst their meager belongings. In an instant, practically everything they now laid eyes upon had been granted unto them. And in another, it had been taken away. The two were unsure of how to proceed. A worry began to creep into the inquisitor's conscience, a worry unlike any other.

He had experienced fear. Experienced dread. Experienced the litany of harrowing events expected of a Sith. But this was different. This wasn't something that could be beat. He literally had no opponent to face. No danger. No pain. And yet, he felt as if everything was slowly slipping away from him. And whereas he would usually seek comfort in his companion, the warrior seemed detached, having not uttered a single word single the encounter.

Lorrik felt powerless. No amount of physical strength, no amount of mystic knowledge, no amount of conniving cunning could remedy their situation. They were under the scrutiny of a system they did not even belong to. They were Sith, but they were not Sith. They were forced to act as Sith, but forbidden to act as Sith.

As Jresh retreated to his room, the inquisitor surveyed the living quarters, taking note of what needed to be packed. At his desk, the Human removed and set down his lightsaber. Even at first glance, he could notice the marks and scraps it had suffered from being dropped and banged against various surfaces. His eyes then panned to the holocron that sat a short distance away. He glared at the red pyramid, a hate brewing within him.

He hated that blasted thing. He wanted to blame everything that had occurred on it. If he hadn't looked inside, he wouldn't have learned that technique. If he hadn't learned that technique, he wouldn't have injured himself and his partner. If he hadn't injured himself, he would have been sparring with the other apprentices rather than wandering the halls of the Academy. He wanted to blame it, because he knew if he could not, the only thing he could blame was himself.

Lorrik began to dig through his desk, gathering and collecting his scattered datacards and stacking them next to his weapon. As luxurious as his quarters had been in relation to his tenure amongst Tash's classrooms, the inquisitor realized how little his amount of possessions had actually changed. He had acquired a lightsaber, a few new sets of clothes, that damned artifact. But other than that, he had nothing worthy of being held onto aside from his collected datacards. Everything of worth he possessed could easily be carried upon his person and confined to a single footlocker. He didn't know whether that fact pleased or upset him.

In the other room, Jresh slowly peeled away his battle attire. Removing the hardened leathers and plates from his body, the Pureblood possessed no scars nor wounds from his encounter, but it had left its mark. His heart still beat at a heightened pace. His breathing, while controlled, took the warrior's conscious effort to maintain its rhythm. Replacing his armor with a set of robes, the Pureblood looked around his room. His eyes wandered as he thought of how to proceed, but he had no desire to go anywhere.

Sitting on the floor near the foot of his bed, Jresh closed his eyes, attempting to calm the chaos that refused to leave his body and mind. He began to meditate, trying to regain control of himself, but in his current state, he found his senses heightened beyond belief. He could feel the passing air upon the entirety of his exposed skin. He was cognizant of each and every movement that occurred around him. And worst of all, the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat. He concentrated. Focused all his energies on calming himself, but was interrupted each second with the renewed thumping of his heart.

Outside, Lorrik moved from the living quarters to his bedroom. Surveying his closet, the inquisitor began mentally allocating the space required to pack his luggage. As he looked over the articles of clothing, the Human succumbed to a brief coughing fit. As he regained control, his began to rub his own neck. The muscles were sore to the touch, in fact, his entire body still ached from the crushing forces he endured in the earlier encounter. Trudging over to his bed, the Human plopped down on top of the sheets, relishing what would be his last day with that wonderful bed. As he stared upward toward the ceiling, he began to focus his mind, attempting to soothe the soreness that populated much of his body.

His trance was broken when he heard a series of knock on the suite's front door. Perking up, the inquisitor wondered how long he had been laying down as soreness from before seemed to have disappeared. Lorrik rose to his feet and journeyed toward the suite's entrance. With a quick press of the controls, the door rose into its recess, revealing a gathering of six apprentices outside.

"We need to talk," Arlia bluntly stated. The six students of Syrosk stood rigid, most with their arms folded, baring none too pleased expressions.

Lorrik began to worriedly scratch his chin. "Look, I know this is-"

"I said WE need to talk, not you," Arlia chided. "Move aside." The Twi'lek shooed the Human back as she barged in, the other apprentices following her into the suite. As the last of the students entered, Lorrik hesitantly closed the door behind them. The visitors made their way into the living quarters, spreading themselves out amongst the desks and meditation mat.

"Where's Syrosk?" Lorrik asked.

"Elsewhere," Arlia answered. "Likely securing us transit off this dust ball."

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you think? We're here because we need to figure out what we're going to do next," Arlia declared.

"Syrosk seems intent on packing up and continuing our training elsewhere, leaving all this Academy nonsense behind us," Kar'ai stated.

"But we all know that's not going to work," Isorr added. "Syrosk thinks we can train elsewhere, but we're outcasts no matter where we go."

"Right. Things only worked out here because of Syrosk's history with the place," Arlia stated. "Whether he realizes it or not, this is the safest place for him. Anywhere else, and he's fair game for any Lord who wants to take down the 'alien' in their midst."

"Syrosk's admitted defeat," Ryloh offered. "He's willing to abandon everything we've accomplished so far, because he thinks it's what's best for the group.

"But we don't plan on giving up that easily," Kar'ai heartily added.

Lorrik offered the gathered apprentices a soft arch of his brow. "Wait, I thought you'd all be angry about being exiled from Korriban."

"Of course we're angry," Arlia declared, "Tash made the better move, and now Syrosk is just handing him the win."

"Wait, Tash? You think was Tash's doing?" Lorrik asked.

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you haven't figured that out," Arlia chided. "We managed to upset him by messing with his classrooms, and he found a way to make sure we never messed with them again."

"I was attacked by an Overseer. Not an instructor. Not one of Tash's lackeys. An Overseer, from the REAL Academy," Lorrik explained. "He hated the other students and everything Tash was doing as much as he did me."

"I know, right? Lessens the likelihood of things being tied back to him," Arlia stated. "We're not dealing with a normal Sith, we're dealing with a Darth who's managed to survive the entirety of the Great War while overseeing a secret training ground for impure acolytes. I'm sure he knows a thing or two about manipulation."

"Maybe he does, but that doesn't make him any more likely the culprit than some random Sith with a vendetta against our kind," Lorrik admitted.

"No less likely either," Isorr countered.

"You really think he could orchestrate such a thing from across the galaxy in less than a day?" Lorrik asked. "We just met with his classrooms yesterday."

"Maybe he was planning it earlier and it just happened to sync up with our recent ploy?" Arlia offered. "Maybe it was carried out by one his agents here? Maybe it was his apprentice, though we don't know if he was aware of our actions yesterday."

Lorrik's eyes slowly drifted toward the floor. "He was aware." The other apprentices looked to the Human with a curious look.

"How could you know that?" Arlia asked.

"Because. I talked to him last night," Lorrik admitted.

Isorr balked. "You what?"

"I caught up with him as he was about to board a shuttle. He already knew before I had even spoke."

"Why were you talking with him in the first place?" Kar'ai asked.

"He offered us a chance to join him, I thought it only fair to give him the chance to join us," Lorrik admitted.

"He offered us a chance to join Tash," Arlia corrected. "He's still his apprentice, and he's made his loyalties abundantly clear. He's probably the one who sent the Overseer after you."

"No. I don't believe that," Lorrik declared. "That's not the man who brought me to the Academy."

"Your trusting naiveté was kind of adorable at one point, but it's time to get serious," Arlia directed. "The man was and is a Sith. He said and did whatever was required to get us headed toward the Academy. We cannot trust him any more than we can trust his master."

As a lull overtook the conversation, the Zabrak looked around the suite's living quarters. "Where's Jresh, he needs to be here as we plan our next move."

"He's in his room," Lorrik hesitantly stated. "He's… meditating."

Isorr balked. "Meditating?"

"He's still recovering from the encounter, emotionally at least," Lorrik explained. "I can sense the imbalance within him."

The Zabrak released a low growl. "What manner of Sith cannot handle the effects of battle."

"This was no ordinary battle," Lorrik muttered.

Receiving no further explanation, the Isorr offered a stern scoff. "Then you'll make his decisions for him. We're being kicked out tomorrow. The question is, where do we go?"

"Where can we go?" Ryloh asked. He and the other apprentices looked to Lorrik for an answer.

"What? Why should I have any idea?"

"Because, this is the kind of thing you're best at," Kar'ai stated. "Guiding the group when we have no idea where to go. Back in the wastes. When we became apprentices. When Vai offered us a place with Tash. You're the best at keeping this group together."

Lorrik saw the eyes of the other six apprentices continue to press upon him. "I… don't know. This isn't like anything we've dealt with before. Maybe it's just best to pack your bags and… wait for tomorrow." The Human began to move past the other students without another word.

Ryloh raised a hand as the other inquisitor approached one of the bedrooms. "But-"

"I don't know about anyone else, but I need more rest. I trust you'll see yourselves out," Lorrik muttered as he retreated into his room, leaving the other apprentices standing with no direction. With nothing more to say, the students removed themselves from the suite and departed toward their own rooms.

Once more, the Human fell onto his bed, this time shutting his eyes, hoping for the day to finally be over.

* * *

As morning came, Lorrik was awoken by a series of knock at his front door. Stepping from his bedroom, the inquisitor saw his companion already up and dressed. Two small footlockers had been stacked atop the warrior's desk, containing everything the Pureblood wished to take with him. Lorrik was thrilled to see his partner up and moving around, but the warrior still carried a beleaguered look in his eyes. The two shared a brief look as they silently pondered the knock at their door. For all they knew it could have been a group of Guardsmen ready to escort them offworld.

Garbed in his under-robes, the inquisitor opened to door to be greeted by Arlia, who invited him into the hallway. Cautiously stepping from his apartment, the Human saw the curious sight of the other apprentices standing near their own suites, examining notes attached to the walls on either side of their doors. Turning, Lorrik saw that two more rest beside his own door.

"What are these?" Lorrik asked to no one in particular.

"Look for yourself," Arlia advised. "It seems someone knew we were departing today.

Lorrik examined the notes closely. Pieces of flimsiplast, small pages containing a specialized message. Both possessed a unique set of astrogation coordinates accompanied by a single name. One said 'Yerrig', the other said 'Zyos'.

"Who put these here?" Lorrik asked.

"Don't know," Arlia admitted. "Kar'ai and Ryloh were the first to notice. They were here before any of us woke up. What's yours say?"

"They're coordinates, and the name of the man who owned me back when I was a slave. The other has the name of the Sith responsible for the death of Jresh's parents."

"That's what I thought," Arlia muttered to herself, eliciting a confused response from the Human. "Each of these sheets seems to point us toward something in our past. The question is, who put these here and why?"

"I'd say the who is easy enough to figure out," Lorrik admitted. "How many people have knowledge of our pasts, and how many of those people have the resources to keep tabs on them."

"Tash," Arlia declared. "If he knows we're being forced of Korriban, he could be trying to split us up. Or perhaps he's still trying to court our favor. First create a situation where Syrosk can no longer provide for us, then provide us with the things we most want."

Lorrik stared at the sheets. "Or maybe… it's a peace offering."

"Yeah, that's what I mean. Tash is trying to-"

"No. Not Tash. Vai," Lorrik offered. "As his apprentice, Vai could reasonably access the same information and resources Tash could."

"Again with this?" Arlia muttered. "Vai is not our ally."

"He's not our enemy either," Lorrik stated.

"You realize the most likely explanation is that this is a trap. He could be guiding us right toward our deaths," Arlia explained.

"If that's the case, then I say we follow them," Lorrik declared. "After all, you all had a problem with Syrosk admitting defeat. If you're right and this is a trap, then the fight is still on. If I'm right and this is a gift, then the fight is most definitely still on. Tell the others to get ready. We're leaving Korriban."


	93. 3-17 Exchanges

**Chapter Seventeen: Exchanges**

Lorrik ducked back into his suite, the two notes held firmly in his hands. Jresh watched from the living room as the Human approached with a peculiar bounce in his step.

"Jresh, you need to take a look at this," Lorrik advised, holding out one of the sheets of flimsiplast.

The Pureblood extended a hand, slowly accepting the offered note. The warrior's eyes hovered over the sparse information, passing over it again and again, processing it over and over in his mind.

"That's the name of the man who killed your parents, right?" Lorrik softly asked.

The warrior continued to stare at the name etched onto the flimsiplast sheet. "Their deaths were at the hands of his apprentice, but… yes, this was the man ultimately responsible," Jresh stoically declared.

"Every one of us got a note like that. Something from before our lives at the Academy and a series of coordinates," Lorrik explained. "I think it's a gift. I think I convinced Vai to help us. He's trying to give us a piece of our lives back, I know it! Don't you see what this means? I thought it was all over. I thought we had nowhere to go. But now-"

Lorrik stopped mid-sentence when he saw his companion calmly rip up the note within his hands. He tore the sheet into halves over and over until there was little more than tatters. A moment later, he released them from his grasp, letting the scraps gently float down to the floor.

The inquisitor looked at the tattered note with wide eyes, stunned. "Jresh, why did-"

The Human found himself once again interrupted, this time by the Pureblood reaching around him and pulling him close. The warrior's arms constricted around his companion's shoulders, holding him and pressing his head to his chest. Lorrik remained silent, arms pinned to his side by his partner's tender yet firm embrace.

"Yesterday…" Jresh muttered, barely rising above a soft whisper. "When I sensed that you were in danger, I ran as fast as I could. Faster than I thought possible. I ran and I ran, only a single thing running through my mind. You. And the fact that I had to protect you. That if I didn't get there in time, I would lose you. But something happened along the way. I can remember the moment I set eyes upon the men attacking you. I was filled with an indescribable rage. In that moment, nothing could compare to the hate I felt toward the man who held your life in his hands. And so I used that hate, that rage, to fuel myself. To punish those men who threatened you. Though every move I made was deliberate and every action I took was calculated, I was not the one in control. It was like I was trapped inside my own body, forced to witness the events unfold around me. My movements, my actions, my words… they were mine, but they did not belong to me. And yet, I wanted each and every one of them. Only when I was sure that you were safe, only when I had killed those men, did I regain control. But even then, I hadn't. My heart continued to race. My senses remained heightened. The passage of time had been unbearably slowed. And though I wanted nothing more than for it to stop, it persisted. Some part of me wanted to preserve that feeling. That bloodlust. That power. But I knew I could not allow it. During that fight, I felt closer to the Force than I ever had, but I could also feel myself slipping away. The power I displayed threatened to consume me. Consume every part of me that desired that power in the first place. I had to focus the entirety of my mind on preserving what I truly desired, lest those desires become subservient to that consumption. I could not allow that power to take precedence. No power, no matter how great, is worth sacrificing who I am or what I care about."

As Lorrik remained locked in his partner's embrace, he could hear the warrior's heart beating in his chest. What was once a furious thumping had since been replaced by a calmed beat.

"I will not lose control and risk losing everything I have tried so hard to gain," Jresh softly declared. "I can train. I can fight. I can protect you without succumbing to that darkness. I cannot make that promise were I to meet my parents' killer. For me, there is nothing in my past worth returning to. For you, there is something worth holding onto. Something worth preserving. My family's gone. Yours isn't. I'll not see myself distracted by some vendetta, not while we remain embroiled in much more important matters. If we must leave the Academy, we leave together. I will stand by your side wherever you may go, because that is where I truly want to be."

Jresh slowly loosened his arms around Lorrik, eventually relinquishing his grip and taking a step back. The wide-eyed surprise the inquisitor displayed had given way to a soft appreciation. The two looked into one another's eyes as they realized that no matter how much had changed in the last few days, there was something in the other person that they could always rely upon. They protected one another, from things far more important that bodily harm. They provided shelter. They provided guidance. They provided a way forward.

"You know, twice now you've saved me from certain death," Lorrik stated, eyes firmly planted upon the Pureblood's visage. "And I've yet to properly thank you for it."

Jresh dipped his head, closing his eyes as he regained his composure. "You are my partner, you don't need to-"

He was suddenly interrupted by the Human taking hold of the warrior's robes, lifting himself up, and placing his lips upon the Pureblood's own. Jresh's eyes shot open to see his companion's face pressed against his as they shared a brief but tender kiss. Lorrik then broke away, ending the connection as quickly as he had initiated it. The two apprentices once again stood locked in one another's eyes. Lorrik retreated with a bashful smile whilst the warrior attempted to maintain his stoic demeanor. Such attempts would prove insufficient as the Pureblood's lips began to curl into a smile.

* * *

Hours passed. The Korriban sun beat down upon the eight apprentices as they stood outside the Academy halls. But that was the only familiarity they possessed toward their current predicament. Together they stood, arranged in the same line standing across from their master, only this time, there would be no trial. Instead, they stood, luggage and containers at their side, staring at the shuttle that was to ferry them offworld. Between them and the vessel was Lord Syrosk, garbed in black robes rather than his battle attire, looking upon his students with an unusual weariness behind his eyes.

"My apprentices," Syrosk rasped. "Our time on Korriban has come to an end. Though I know none of you possess fond memories of this world, you must undoubtedly understand the important part it has played in your training. As we depart, we are unfortunately leaving behind something that shaped all of you into the men and women you are today. This shuttle will take us to the orbital station above Korriban. From there, we will plan our journey in greater detail, but I'm afraid the time has come for us to leave the Academy."

"We're leaving. You're not," Lorrik declared. The Sith Lord arched his brow, studying his apprentice. The Human was utterly confident in his words. Not only that, but each of the seven other students were confident in them as well. They stood united, more so than ever before. More so than the trip to the wastes. More so than the trip to the tombs. Once more they were called upon to journey into the unknown, and they stood ready. But for the first time, their master was to make that journey with them. And for the first time, they would deny him.

"Do you plan on elaborating?" Syrosk curiously asked.

"You said that even though we were banished, you could remain if you so chose," Lorrik recalled.

"Indeed. But your training cannot continue so long as I remain here," Syrosk declared.

"Then maybe it's time for our training to end," Lorrik stated. The Sith Lord remained silent, not wanting to interrupt the Human's musings. "We've learned pretty much everything you could teach us, it's just up to us to hone our skills, right? We don't need the Academy or its grounds to do that. We can continue our training elsewhere, readying ourselves as we always have for what it surely to come."

"And that would be?" Syrosk rasped.

"Our confrontation with Tash," Lorrik declared. "You think everything we've done, everything we've been through is over, just because we're being forced off this dust ball? When have things ever been that simple? Whether or not this was orchestrated by Tash, he's not going to stop. And even if he's stopped caring about us, there are still scores of students in that Academy that remain bound to his will. You can still operate within the Academy. You can still keep an eye on his operations. He thinks us defeated. Disbanded. He thinks you've given up. And maybe you have. But we haven't. We will continue to fight until each and every one of us is free from his clutches once and for all. If you truly want to do right by us, stay here, watch for new developments, and trust in the teachings you've provided us."

"Were I to stay, where would you all go?" Syrosk asked.

"We can't tell you," Lorrik bluntly answered. "We all have our paths to take. Paths we must walk alone. But with the bonds we have forged, we will never truly be separated from one another. And as hard as you may have tried keeping yourself detached from your students, we all share that same bond with you. But if you require something more tangible, you can contact us through the datapads you gave us when we first began our training. When the time comes for us to reconvene, we will do so. Until then, we will spend our time accordingly. You've been a great master, and we remain your apprentices, but the time has come for us to depart."

The Sith Lord looked upon the Human, then the others, each of then sharing the same sentiment. Syrosk processed his student's words, wondering if this was truly the best course of action, but the determined glint in the inquisitor's eyes provided a sufficient answer.

"Very well," Syrosk said with the subtle nod of his horned head. "I will remain on Korriban and keep tabs on Tash's operations. You are all free to go and act as you please. I trust in your judgment."

"Thank you, master," Lorrik offered with a respectful bow of his head.

"No. Thank you. All of you," Syrosk rasped. "You have all proven yourselves capable and determined beyond measure. I am proud to have taught you these past months. Looking at each of you, I see the greatness I envisioned all those years ago when I set out to find the next generation of Sith." The Sith Lord began to walk toward his apprentices, stopping only a couple steps away from them. "And you Lorrik, you have managed to defy nearly all of my expectations."

"Here's hoping that's a good thing," Lorrik said with a chuckle. The master accepted the jovial offering, but maintain his usual gruff stoicism.

"There is something I wish for you to have," Syrosk declared as he reached beneath the folds of his robes. His rough hand returned holding an amulet attached to a chain that circled the Sith Lord's neck. Carefully, he lifted the necklace, maneuvering the amulet up and over his horned head. The student looked at it with a contained fascination. The jeweled amulet was something of simple beauty, a dark yellow crystal enwrapped with silver. "This amulet belonged to my master. He passed it down to me during my training as a Seer. It provided focus. Accentuated my abilities. Because of it, my visions became clearer. Because of it, I was able to find all of you amongst the vastness of this galaxy. I am aware of your distaste for precognition, but I would like to pass it on to you as my master did to me."

Lorrik stared at the chained amulet held within him master's hands. With wide eyes, he carefully reached out, taking the prized possession in his hands, studying the golden gem closely.

"I'm not sure what to say," Lorrik admitted, somewhat astonished.

"In many ways, you remind me of my master. It seemed fitting that you be the next to receive it," Syrosk explained.

"Thank you… but…"

"But?" Syrosk repeated with confusion.

"This gem isn't anything special," Lorrik admitted. The Sith Lord offered a firm arch of his brow. "This kind of crystal, I mean, it's valuable in the cosmetic markets, but they don't have any Force properties. This is the stuff me and the other slaves mined before I came to the Academy."

Syrosk continued to stare at his apprentice, for the first time in life truly dumbfounded. His mouth articulated, but no words passed his rough lips. The Sith Lord was unable to properly convey the jumbled thoughts running through his head.

"Why would my master have me put my faith in some worthless trinket?" Syrosk muttered.

"Oh, it's far from worthless. Beyond the monetary value, I mean," Lorrik stated. "It still gave you focus. It still gave you something to believe in. Only instead of drawing upon some outside Force to grant you power, you drew upon the bond between you and your master. You drew upon the power already within you. Everything you've done has been because of you, not some artifact. What you believed to be granting your insight, was simply a construct to get you to belief in yourself."

"He must have died before he could have told me the truth," whispered to himself. "Or maybe he never had any intention of telling me. He knew how important he was to me. He knew if he ever died there would be no one to replace him. So he gave me something to believe in, because I would be too stubborn to believe in myself. He accepted his death, because he believed in me, even if I didn't. After all this time, he managed to impart one final lesson." The Sith Lord let out a soft chortle. "I'd like for you to have it nonetheless, Lorrik."

The apprentice replied with a warm nod, placing the amulet around his neck.

"My students, we've delayed long enough," Syrosk declared, a subtle warmth in his tone. "Your shuttle awaits. Your transport off the orbital station should arrive in a few hours. Safe travels."

Without another word, the students' master began his trek back toward the Academy, turning his back on his apprentices for the last time. The eight Sith watched the Lord march along the dirt path, arms folded neatly behind his back. Without further delay, they shared one look amongst each other and picked up their luggage, carrying the assortment of bags and containers onto the shuttle in front of them.

The eight apprentices piled into the vessel's passenger bay, neatly storing their luggage and preparing themselves for the journey ahead. With everyone in their seats, the shuttle lifted itself from the landing pad, beginning its ascent toward the Korriban sky, followed by a quick trip past its atmosphere.

"This is our first time going into space since arriving isn't it?" Lorrik casually stated.

"Is anything not nonchalant for you?" Arlia accusingly asked. "How did you know Syrosk would just let us go like this?"

"I didn't. Then again, maybe I just did," Lorrik stated. "I don't think he truly had a plan for what came next. He told us himself, there were few options for where we could possibly continue our training. This is for the best. We get to go where we please without interference."

"Yeah, I noticed you didn't tell him about where we plan on going," Arlia continued.

"Where ARE we going?" Kar'ai asked. "I mean, I know we plan on following up on the coordinates mysteriously left for us, but how do we go about getting there? I don't think we can go about this with a single shuttle."

"Syrosk didn't say how we'd be leaving the orbital station," Ryloh stated.

"Suppose we had to fly together, do we seek out the nearest major starport and book our own rides from there?" Kar'ai suggested.

"We don't exactly have the means to pay for our gallivanting around the galaxy," Ryloh stated.

"I think I can take care of that," Arlia declared as she reached beneath her seat. Slowly, she pulled out a small footlocker and maneuvered ahead of her feet. Undoing its latches, she opened the container's lid, revealing a colorful assortment of extravagant and rare lightsaber crystals. "The ones we procured from our delve into the tomb. Took a purple one for myself. Figured the others would come in handy sooner or later. Since I plan on visiting Nar Shaddaa, I can sell these for a hefty sum while I'm there. That'll give us a pool of credits more than able to cover our expenses."

"Arlia? Sharing?" Lorrik joked.

The purple Twi'lek cast her sharpened gaze toward the Human. "Keep that up and you're on your own."

"I'm only just kidding," Lorrik warmly offered. "But, uh, you wouldn't happen to have another purple crystal in there or anything?"

"Nope, just the one. You're stuck with blue," Arlia teased.

"What other colors do you have?"

"Come on, Lorrik. These are meant to earn us some credits. Stop being so selfish," Arlia playfully chided. The Human offered the grinning Twi'lek a sideward glare and he fell silent. As the cabin grew quiet, only the soft hum of the shuttle's mechanical working struck the apprentices' ears.

"You know, I wish these things had viewports," Lorrik muttered.

As the minutes passed, the students could sense the vessel approaching its targeted destination. Eventually, the shuttle touched down in one the hangars of Korriban's orbital station. The eight apprentices calmly gathered their belongings as they exited the craft, stepping out onto the cold metallic floor of the station. The students looked in awe toward the outward face of the hangar, seeing the planet they had spent the last decade of their lives on surrounded by the vastness of space.

The sight beyond the chamber's magnetic barrier was simplistic and viewed by countless individuals, but it was something utterly new to them. Ever since they were brought to Korriban, they had been strictly terrestrial beings. Now, they saw how little Korriban was amongst the surrounding astral sea. They continued to admire the image, until a station official arrived to guide them deeper into the orbital station. Luggage in hand, the eight apprentices headed toward the lobby where they would await their next transport.

Walking amongst the ordered architecture of the station, the students saw passing Imperial engineers and technicians going about their daily routines. Armed security patrolled and guarded the station, panning their gazes over the travelers from beneath their faceless helmets. The students found themselves amongst something new. The station resembled little from Korriban's surface structures. The peoples populating the station ranged from simple to benign. The eight apprentices slowly realized that Korriban and the Academy were unique amongst the galaxy, their journey ahead promising a litany of new experiences.

The students settled down in the station's lobby. Sitting on benches, surrounded by their belongings, there was little more for them to do but wait. Time passed. First minutes. Then hours. The apprentices wondered what awaited them, and whether it intended to arrive any time soon. Just as they were about to think themselves abandoned, one of the station's staff approached them, informing the students that Syrosk had arranged their transport. The plainly garbed Human then led the eight apprentices toward one of the station's many hangars.

Passing the threshold of a large bulkhead door, the students were greeted with the sight of four shuttles situated in two pairs on opposite sides of the hangar.

"Which one is ours?" Lorrik asked.

"All of them," the attendant explained.

"Has anyone noticed our master has a strange knack for acquiring shuttles?" Kar'ai asked.

"Perks of being a Sith Lord," Arlia replied.

"So we each get our own shuttle," Lorrik stated. "Does each pair have someone who can fly said shuttle?"

"Each vessel possesses its own Astromechanical Logistics Droid," the attended explained.

"Does each pair have someone who can converse with an Astromechanical Logistics Droid?" Lorrik asked as the station attendant ducked away.

"Is fine. No worry," Nesk briskly offered, already heading toward one of the docked vessels. As he and Vurt approached the nearest shuttle, they left the other three pairs scratching their heads.

"I guess there's really nothing more for us to say to one another," Lorrik muttered.

"No, I suppose there isn't," Arlia replied. Moving to the Human's front, the female Twi'lek extended her hand. The fellow inquisitor accepted, and the two amicably shook hands. "Well, Lorrik, it's been interesting to say the least. Do try not to die, you've a bad habit of that as of late."

The Human offered a smile and the two parted ways. As Arlia headed toward one of the shuttles, Isorr locked eyes with the Pureblood.

"We didn't get a chance to finish our duel," Isorr stated. "I hope to remedy that one day."

"I'll be waiting," Jresh stoically declared. The two warriors offered a brief nod of their heads as the Zabrak caught up with his partner. Now only Lorrik, Jresh, Kar'ai, and Ryloh remained.

"Honestly, is this how you saw any of this panning out?" Kar'ai asked.

"Not in the slightest," Lorrik warmly offered. The Rattataki replied with a light chuckle.

"Thanks for everything you've done. You know, keeping us together, keeping us alive," Kar'ai listed. "We were lucky to have you, even if it meant withstanding your constant chatter on occasion." The warrior offered a slight bow of her head before departing toward one of the shuttles.

Ryloh began to followed her, but stopped after taking a few steps, turning back toward the Human. The blue Twi'lek dropped one of the sacks he carried onto the floor, loosening its bindings. Reaching inside, he returned with a black, featureless facemask in his hands.

"This is the artifact we managed to procure from our trip to the tombs. I thought you should have it," Ryloh stated. Lorrik carefully took hold of the smooth facemask, feeling a strange energy coursing through it. "If you wear it, it masks your identity, your thoughts, your very presence. You seem to run into the most trouble out of all of us, so I thought you might be able to find a use for it. We never liked it that much. Using it puts you in a very insular state. I felt disconnected, even from Kar'ai, when wearing it. I know that wouldn't appeal to you neither, but I figured if things really got bad, you might find use in it. Plus, Kar'ai thinks it's kind of creepy."

Lorrik gently placed the artifact amongst his packed belongings. "Thanks, Ryloh. I really appreciate it." With that, the two inquisitors parted ways. Jresh and Lorrik were alone as the other pairs began loading into their own shuttles.

"So. This is it," Jresh declared. "After all these years, we're finally leaving Korriban behind."

"Yup."

"I take it that means you're ready?"

"Yup."

"Alright, let's get going then."

"Let's."

Luggage firmly in hand, Lorrik and Jresh made their way toward the fourth shuttle.


	94. 3-18 Journeys

**Chapter Eighteen: Journeys**

The shuttle hatch opened as Lorrik and Jresh approached. The vessel was one of the standardized vessels utilized by the Empire. Gray. Compact. Angular. The same model that had once dumped them amidst the wastes of Korriban. The same model that had just recently ferried them to the orbital station. Setting their packed belongings loosely amongst the passenger area, the pair ducked their heads into the cockpit, only to see a droid sitting patiently where an organic pilot would usually reside. The humanoid machine resembled the protocol and factotum droids that could be seen maintaining the station, as well as the more technically oriented sections of the Academy.

Swiveling around in its seat, the droid greeted the two new occupants. "Greetings masters," the pilot sounded off with an overbearing politeness. "I am Astromechanical Logistics Droid 438. It is my duty and privilege to provide you transport wherever you may desire."

The inquisitor looked upon the mechanical pilot with a curious glee. "Honestly, when was the last time we met someone this nice?"

"It's a droid. Its emotional state is just programming," Jresh offered.

"People aren't any different, our software just has a few more… bugs," Lorrik joked. Approaching the droid, the inquisitor pulled a sheet of flimsiplast from his robes. "ALD, can you take us to these coordinates?"

The pilot took the sheet, holding it in front of his mechanical eyes for but a moment. "Certainly master. I shall set a course immediately." The droid went straight to inputting the coordinates into the navicomputer, already running the internal calculations required to expedite the journey. The vessel lifted itself from its landing struts, hovering a short distance above the hangar floor. With none of the other shuttles impeding its path, the starship left the confines of the orbital station, setting out on its journey.

The two travelers watched as the holoprojector that sat beside the pilot lit up, displaying a luminescent map of the known galaxy. Data points began to pop up as the map focused, zooming in toward a nondescript planet nestled in the Outer Rim. Ortess-3. Name given not by any inhabitants, but by offworld charters before they knew anything more than its location. The Imperial databank provided limited details. Size. Number of moons. Nothing regarding its populace or mining operations.

"Ortess-3. So that's what it was called," Lorrik said, almost whispering. The inquisitor looked to his companion, whom looked upon the holoprojector with quiet fascination. "Go ahead, the co-pilot's chair is empty."

"The droid has everything under control," Jresh replied, not removing his gaze from the console. "I'd not interfere."

"Come on," Lorrik teased. "Astromechanics is the closest thing you've had to a hobby, and it's not like the Academy could accommodate it like me and my cooking."

"I'd only consider it passing interest-"

"A passing interest that more than expedited our trip through the wastes," Lorrik reminded. "It's good to have something in your life that doesn't involve punching and stabbing."

The warrior momentarily tore his gaze from the ship's console to lock eyes with his companion. The inquisitor offered nothing more than a gentle smile, one that proved contagious. Without another word, the Pureblood entered the cockpit, placing himself in the co-pilot's chair. Turning around, he saw that Lorrik had already retreated into the passenger bay, leaving him alone with the droid.

Jresh looked over the console that stretched out in front of him. The various panels and dials were automated to remain under the droid's control, but the Pureblood was more than happy to devote to them his full attention.

"All systems ready," the droid stated. "Shall we make the jump to lightspeed, master?"

"Proceed," Jresh directed.

Without delay, the droid engaged the hyperdrive. Destination set, there was a momentary calm as the vessel floated amongst the stars. Soon, the countless specks of light began to stretch across the black canvas as the shuttle jumped to lightspeed. Staring out the viewport, Jresh looked in awe at the swirling tunnel of hyperspace, a sight he had not seen in over a decade.

Back in the passenger bay, Lorrik sat alone. The Human was hunched over, chin resting on his interlocked hands. They had left Korriban. They had left the Academy. He knew this day would eventually come, but never quite like this. Lorrik had long abandoned hope of seeing his family again. He had left everything behind, with no knowledge of how to return. He had never even learned the name of the planet he and the other slaves toiled on.

The chance existed that said planet was not their current destination, but merely where Olto Yerrig currently resided. But the inquisitor would not permit such a thought within his mind. He knew, with every fiber of his being, that they were heading toward that barren, relentless world. The world Tash's apprentice plucked him from over ten years ago. The chance existed that his parents had not survived all those years. But that too would receive no attention. He knew they were still alive. He knew. He knew. He had to know.

As the shuttle traveled through hyperspace, there was little to do other than wait. Hours upon hours passed. The warrior and inquisitor would keep to themselves, occasionally checking up on one another, making sure the other was okay. Though neither truly knew what would constitute okay. Or whether it was truly a time to be okay. They knew their destination, but not what awaited them there.

Sitting in the co-pilot's chair, Jresh watched the console in front of him light up as the hyperspace tunnel collapsed. The stars returned to their usual place as dots amongst the void. In front of the vessel, a planet of faded yellows and hazes stood before them. Ortess-3.

"Lorrik, we're here," Jresh shouted toward the passenger bay. The inquisitor rushed to the cockpit, awestruck with the sight of the looming planet. His lips began to quiver as he struggled to find the words. "ALD, take us down."

"Right away, master," the droid called out. The shuttle approached the planet's surface as fast as its sub-light engines would allow. The vessel firmly in the hands of its pilot, Jresh removed himself from his seat, ushering himself toward the passenger bay. The Pureblood found his companion frozen in place ahead of him, eyes staring off into the distance.

"Don't worry, everything will be okay," Jresh said.

"I'm not entirely sure that's up to us," Lorrik muttered. Shaking his head, the inquisitor shook himself from his stupor, retreating into the passenger bay alongside his companion. The two gathered themselves, preparing for whatever might await them on the planet's surface. As the shuttle passed through the hazy atmosphere of the industrial world, the pilot received a transmission.

"Masters, someone from the surface is asking our names and purpose," the droid declared.

"Tell them we're Sith, and leave it at that," Lorrik shouted to the cockpit.

"Is that wise?" Jresh asked.

"I've no idea the current terms of Tash and Yerrig's relationship," Lorrik explained. "My departure seemed cordial enough, but then again I was a child at the time. And ten years is more than enough time for relations to sour. Just be prepared for anything."

The shuttle descended until it has passed through the thick smog that dominated the sky, setting its sights on a clearing beside a grandiose structure. A clearing that aligned with the set of planetary coordinates provided by Vai Thorel. The shuttle extended its landing gears as it touched down upon the smooth pavement that surrounded the home and office of Olto Yerrig.

"Open the doors, ALD," Lorrik softly directed. Without delay, the entrance ramp unfolded from the vessel's chassis, and the exterior hatch rescinded itself. With a mutual nod, the two Sith stepped from the confines of the shuttle.

The filtered sunlight that passed through the polluted sky lit the area, granting the visitors full view their surroundings. Surroundings populated by armed guards training their weapons on the unscheduled Sith. The guards were garbed in dark colors, protected by armor afforded only to the best security forces. Their faces were concealed behind masked helmets, threatening visages meant to provoke fear from the local workers.

Lorrik took a step forward, the guards reaffirming their rifle barrels toward the Human. The two Sith remained calm, panning their gazes across the horizon, looking beyond those who had them in their sights. The inquisitor thought how to proceed, but he knew with each passing second of silence, their presence would be less and less tolerated.

"We are the servants of Darth Tash, and require an audience with Olto Yerrig," Lorrik bellowed with a presence previously unheard of. The tension remained, but somehow the air seemed calm. Slowly, the guards lowered their weapons.

"Come with us," one of the enforcers directed through the modulation of his helmet. One by one the guards broke their encircling formation, opening a path for the visitors. The two Sith began to walk, flanked by Yerrig's security guiding them toward his domicile.

Lorrik and Jresh kept their heads low, doing nothing to arouse any suspicions. Walking upon the paved ground, the inquisitor saw the progress his former master had made in the last decade. His palace, though expanded, remained far less opulent than those owned by Hutts or nobles. The majority of his earnings had been reinvested in the mines. Digging operations had spread far beyond the nearby mountains. Transit systems had been implemented, expediting the movements of workers and minerals. Things were unpleasant, dirty, but ultimately recognizable in all forms to the former slave.

Passing through the grand archway leading into Yerrig palace, the two visitors immediately found themselves amongst a stark contrast to the world outside. Everything about the structure's interior was smooth and polished. Grandiose pillars lined the foyer, artistic structures and paintings providing a sense of wealth and regality, even more so than the last time Lorrik had stepped foot within.

At the far end of the entrance hall, a figure rushed toward the Sith flanked by two armed guards of his own. The man was garbed in soft attire, filled with the body of a man who spent little of the past ten years working out. The inquisitor instantly recognized the Human. Olto Yerrig. The man's pace was hurried, but he bore no sign of rejection toward his visitors. In fact, he appeared beholden to them.

"Sith!" Yerrig called out, a great distance still separating the two parties. "I sincerely apologize for the lack of a warm welcome, your visit was unscheduled. Had I known you were coming I would have prepared a much more pleasant arrival. Please, what can I do for you?"

The two Sith remained silent as they approached Yerrig. When they finally met at the center of the hall, there was an awkward silence as the businessman did everything in his power to avoid upsetting his visitors. Finally, the inquisitor spoke.

"Our business concerns the boy taken from here ten years ago," Lorrik carefully stated.

"Ah, yes, the Velash child," Yerrig perfectly recalled. "I have kept my word with Mr. Thorel, the boy's parents have been taken care of."

Lorrik's eyes widened. "Taken care of?"

"That's correct. They reside here in the palace. I've made sure they've remained in good health," Yerrig explained.

"Good… good," Lorrik muttered. "Might we see them?"

"Of course," Yerrig said with a quick bow of his head. "Right this way, right this way." Turning his back on the visitors, Yerrig began leading them deeper into the palace. Passing more and more displays of opulence and pride, the Sith were eventually taken to a nondescript chamber. "This is where they reside."

"May we have some privacy?" Lorrik asked.

"Absolutely," Yerrig declared with a dip of his head. There was a pause as the man looked to the floor, his feet firmly planet. "My lords, pardon my ignorance, but what exactly will you do with them? Is our agreement with Mr. Thorel and your master still in place?"

"Yes, you needn't worry about that," Lorrik quickly replied. "We merely have a few question we believe only they can answer. Your cooperation is appreciated and noted."

Without another word, Yerrig backed away with yet another subtle bow of his head, allowing the two visitors free access to the chamber. Lorrik took a deep breath before opening the door. Stepping inside, the two Sith found themselves within a humble dwelling, at least, in comparison to the palace that surrounded it. Lightly decorated. Soft colors. Serene.

Closing the door behind them, the two Sith cautiously ventured into the chamber. The small living area gave way to hallways and other rooms, a self-contained home within Yerrig's. It was warm. Inviting. Peaceful. It was unlike anything the inquisitor had expected. Meanwhile, it reminded the warrior of the colonial estate he had once called his home. As the two studied their surroundings with a pleasant wonder, a figure emerged from one of the halls.

"If you're going to check on us, you can at least…" the man began, before slowly drifting away at the sight of the visitors. Where he had expected one of Yerrig's enforcers, he stood before a pair of robed individuals. "Who… who are…?"

A female voice emanated from one of the distant rooms. "Garen? Is everything alright?" The man was speechless. He stood frozen, eyes locked with the those of the inquisitor. Or rather, eye, as his right was covered with a cloth patch. Emerging from the hallway, the woman moved to her husband's flank. "Garen, what's going on?" Only after ending her sentence did see lay eyes upon the visitors.

"Mom… dad…" Lorrik softly muttered. His lips trembled. His eyes watered. His legs grew weak. It had been a decade since he stood in the presence of the pair of plain folk, the subtle signs of aging apparent on their faces. But in that moment, time had lost all meaning.

"Lorrik, is that really you?" Garen offered, a tear forming beneath his good eye.

The inquisitor rushed forward with glee, throwing his arms around his parents. They did the same to their son, enveloping them in their loving embrace. As they held each other closely, Lorrik felt himself becoming lost in wondrous delight, burdens slowly being lifted from his soul. Only after a few seconds did he realize that he could only feel three arms around him. Breaking away, the son saw that his mother's left arm was missing at the shoulder.

"Mom, what happened?" Lorrik hastily asked.

"The mine collapse took its toll on both of us," Meylin regretfully explained. "Your father lost an eye. I an arm. But don't worry. That day is long behind us, and we could have lost so much more. We're just so relieved to know you're safe."

"Me too… me too," Lorrik softly whispered. Perking up, the inquisitor turned around to see his companion patiently standing by the door. "Oh! Mom, dad, this is Jresh Takuul. He's been my training partner for the past two years, and a good friend. More than a good friend."

"Then what's he doing over there? Come here, come here," Garen waved his son's partner over. Jresh hesitantly complied, slowly making his way over to the group. Standing beside his companion, the warrior was shocked to find the father's arms already wrapping themselves around him. As he received the impromptu hug, the Pureblood locked eyes with his partner, giving him a silent, wide-eyed stare.

Lorrik offered a soft chuckle as he watched the warrior squirm. "It usually takes a while before he'll let anyone hug him."

"I can see your parents were good influences on you," Jresh muttered, still enduring Garen's hug. "I must say, this isn't exactly what I expected."

"You and me both," Lorrik declared. "Why are you two living with Yerrig?"

"He moved us in a day or two after you left, after we were cleared from the medical bay," Meylin explained. "Yerrig said we didn't have to work anymore. That he would take care of us."

Garen released his grip, turning his attention back toward his son. "The man who arranged your departure… he arranged some deal regarding us as well. Yerrig's done everything in his power to keep us safe."

"He has, has he?" Lorrik muttered, stroking his chin. "Listen, I'm going to have a brief conversation with Yerrig. I need you two to stay here."

"Lorrik… please, you've only just arrived," his mother reminded him. "It's been years since we've seen one another. Whatever you need to do can wait."

"I would love nothing more than to stay, and I promise, I'll be back as soon as I can," Lorrik stated. "But if we want this meeting to last any longer, there's something I need to take care of first." The inquisitor wrapped his arms around his parents one more time before heading toward the door.

Jresh passed his gaze from person to person before settling on the worried couple. "Don't worry. I'll make sure he returns safely." Fear had not yet been purged from the parents' hearts, but they ultimately believe in their son and his friend. They offered a firm nod of their heads as the two Sith retreated from the domicile.

Right before opening the door, Lorrik paused. "Do the doors lock?"

The father replied with a hesitant 'yes'.

"You ought to lock it behind us," Lorrik suggested.

"Yerrig won't like that," Garen muttered.

"Trust me, it'll be the least of his concerns," Lorrik declared. Without another word, the two Sith lowered their heads and made their way back into the palace interior.

Stepping out of the domicile, Lorrik and Jresh could see Yerrig waiting on the opposite side of the grandiose chamber, waiting for the Sith's return.

"How do you want to proceed?" Jresh mentally conversed with his partner.

"I want some answers," Lorrik mentally replied. "After that, we're shutting this place down."

"If we cause trouble, a lot of people could get caught in the crossfire. Including your parents," Jresh advised.

"Then we'll simply have to provide Yerrig terms he'll find agreeable," Lorrik replied.

"You're willing to negotiate with that man?"

"I willing to offer him a choice. And if he doesn't see reason, we'll force him to."

Lorrik and Jresh made their way toward Yerrig, who eagerly awaited their company.

"Gentlemen. Gentlemen. Did receive the answers you desired?" Yerrig warmly asked.

"Most. But not all," Lorrik declared. "Please, we'd like to discuss… business."

"Oh, of course. Please, follow me to my office."

Together the three walked, a small accompaniment of armed guard following in their wake. A brief journey through the pristine palace halls led the Sith to Yerrig's office, a place of efficiency amidst the grandiose splendor. Stepping into the compact room, Lorrik and Jresh were surrounded by databanks and terminals situated against the rounded walls. Surveys and maps of planetary excavations littered Yerrig's desk, only a single corner left uncovered. Upon that unmarred spot sat a crystal, cut and sealed within a small display case. A memento, of the first bounty yielded from the mines. The very piece Lorrik had delivered all those years ago.

"Now," Yerrig began, situating himself behind his cluttered desk. "How may I be of service to you and your master?"

Standing just inside the office's threshold, Lorrik and Jresh could feel the discerning gaze of the security forces weighing heavy upon them.

"Must we be forced to proceed under the scrutiny of your men?" Lorrik asked. "It's rather disrespectful."

"I… we… I'd prefer it if…" Yerrig stammered, before letting out a mournful sigh. "Very well. Men, you are dismissed." The guards nodded their head and retreated from the compact chamber, leaving the three men alone. "I'm sorry. It's just that this visit is rather unusual. Your master has never sent anyone aside from the annual checkups. And you're not the usual men."

"I understand, this is new to us as well," Lorrik admitted, purposefully speaking with ambiguity. "Tell me, who were you expecting?"

"No one, to be honest, considering your unscheduled visit," Yerrig explained. "But I'd never turn away Tash's men. You can count on that."

"That is good to hear," Lorrik stated. "Has Vai visited recently? Vai Thorel?"

"No, he hasn't been here since the first visit," Yerrig answered.

"I see," Lorrik muttered, processing the information. "Mr. Yerrig, about the deal you currently have with our master. Would you consider it satisfactory?"

"But of course!" Yerrig declared. "Our supply chains have run uninterrupted years, all thanks to your master. More than worth the five percent he asks." The inquisitor scratched his chin.

"And what of the one regarding the Velash family?" Lorrik insisted.

"While I do not understand it, I would not dare question it," Yerrig proclaimed. "If their safety is required for our relationship to remain intact, I will continue to provide for them."

"Did Tash give you any idea on why he might want them protected?" Lorrik asked.

"No, Mr. Thorel did not provide a reason, merely a consequence for failure."

"So… it was Vai whom arranged their current situation…"

"Correct. I assumed his words were his masters. Was I mistaken?" Yerrig asked.

"Oh, no. No no no. You did well," Lorrik stated.

Yerrig breathed a sigh of relief, wiping his forehead. "Hearing that from one of Darth Tash's men is absolutely wonderful."

"Well, I'm happy that you're happy," Lorrik declared, all smiles. "However, me and partner have a slight confession to make." Yerrig offered the curious arch of his brow as he continued to stare at the inquisitor, not noticing the warrior maneuvering himself to block the doorway. "You see, we don't actually work for Tash."

"What?" Yerrig exclaimed, jumping from his seat. "Then who… who are you?" The man's words we heated, but whimpered with an subtly brewing fear.

"The name's Lorrik. Lorrik Velash," the inquisitor declared, eye's coldly staring down his former slaver.

"L-Lorrik?" Yerrig stammered. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know, thought I'd stop by, see the parents, see what my ex-owner was up to," Lorrik explained.

"Well, you've seen how I've kept them safe, right?" Yerrig struggled to vocalize, head shaking as he appeared to be searching for something under his desk.

"Yerrig, please don't tell me you're trying to activate some sort of security system. 'Cause if it turned out that you were, we'd have to kill you. And we don't want that, now do we?" Lorrik nonchalantly stated.

Yerrig released a frightened chuckle. "No, of course no. So, what can I do for you? Is there anything you want? Anything you need? I technically freed your parents the day you left, so they're no longer slaves. That's good to hear, right?"

"It's downright delightful, Yerrig," Lorrik declared. "But I'm afraid I'm going to need more than that."

"Of course, whatever you need. I've got credits. Ships. Weapons. Guards. Everything a young Sith could possibly need. Tell me what you want and it's yours," Yerrig pleaded.

"You see, that's kind of the opposite of what I want," Lorrik replied. "I don't actually want anything for myself. But so long as you're in the mood to give away your own things… how about you free all your slaves?"

"Are you insane? I can't mine without a workforce!"

"Oh, well then, the solution's obvious. Shut down the mines too," Lorrik directed. "Then again, like I said earlier, me and my partner here could just kill you." The inquisitor raised his right hand, arc of electricity beginning to envelope his gloved digits.

"Nononono. That's fine, I'll do whatever you want, just don't kill me," Yerrig pleaded.

"Glad we could reach an agreement. Tell me, where do you keep your records?" Lorrik asked.

Yerrig quickly shuffled to the wall behind his desk, tearing down one of the printed maps that hung from the wall and revealing a small built-in safe. Punching in a quick code, he swung to door open, revealing a series of datapads and holorecordings.

"Everything you need is in this safe," Yerrig hastily declared. "The safe and these terminals. They're all unlocked, I swear. You may peruse them at your convenience. Is that, uh, is that good? Can I go?"

"Sure. Leave this place, and never come back. Jresh, let the man out," Lorrik advised. Watching the warrior step out of the way of the entrance, Yerrig remained for a moment by his safe.

"Do you think, maybe, I could take a few credits?" Yerrig cautiously asked. "I won't exactly have access to my accounts." All he received was the cold, uncaring stare of the inquisitor's piercing gaze. "Okay, I'll just be going then."

"Lorrik, I'll escort Yerrig to his ship," Jresh declared. "Wouldn't want him getting lost along the way." The inquisitor nodded, and the two men exited the office, leaving Lorrik alone in the office. Flustered, Yerrig made his way toward the palace exit, the warrior marching by his side. The posted sentries looked upon their employer in confusion.

"Sir," one spoke up. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes, everything's fine," Yerrig hurriedly declared. "Come on, men, we're leaving."

"Leaving, sir?"

"Don't question me, just move!" Yerrig shouted. The Sith continued to escort the man out of his own home, as more and more armed guards followed in their stead. As Yerrig approached the end of the foyer, he turned around to see a small accompaniment of security were now following them.

"Don't get any ideas, Yerrig," Jresh sternly whispered, piercing the man to his core. He immediately corrected his stance, keeping his eyes forward as he approached the outer threshold of his palace.

Out in the open, Yerrig stood beneath the filtered light of the planet's sun, wallowing in defeat. His body grew weak, his limbs flaccid as he slowly lost the will to continue.

"Sir, what exactly is going on?" one of the trailing guards asked.

"We're leaving. For good. You're all fired. Done. There's nothing left for us here," Yerrig morosely proclaimed. As the guards looked to one another in confusion, the warrior stepped in front of their former employer.

"Yerrig," Jresh stoically began. "My partner has allowed you to continue amongst the living. Considering your pasts, I find myself questioning why. However, I do have a question for you. Were you to abandon everything you started here, could you start a new operation elsewhere?"

"What do you mean?" Yerrig cautiously asked.

"What I mean is, whatever you were digging here. Were you to know of another source, or of something similar, could you begin your operation anew. Without guidance from Tash?"

"It would all depend on the circumstances," Yerrig softly declared.

"Is there a set of circumstances wherein you could start a new dig site. Unbeholden to Tash. Unbeknownst to my partner?"

Yerrig stared at the Pureblood, before letting out a soft chortle. "Ah, I see what you're getting at. A new operation with someone else getting a cut of the profits. Someone like yourself, right? Well, I suppose it would take a lot of time and investment, but if you can protect me, help me get things off the ground, we can have a new operation up and running. And if you can give me the same results Tash did, I'd be more than happy to cut you in."

"That's what I thought," Jresh whispered to himself.

Without further delay, the warrior raised his hands and grasped ahold of Yerrig's head, and in one swift motion, snapped his neck. As his lifeless body fell to the ground, the surrounding guards jumped at the sight, letting out a series of gasps. Slowly, the Pureblood turned to face them, his eyes stoic and determined.

"Yerrig's operations on this planet are ending. His slaves will be freed and his mines closed. Whatever credits this man has accrued will be given to his former workers, and whomever amongst you wishes to stay and guard them. Anyone who wishes to leave may do so. If anyone thinks to disrupt or harm the newly freed slaves, you will receive the same fate as your former employer. Deliver this message to the other guards."

Jresh stepped away from the corpse, circumventing the guards who still stood in disbelief at what had just occurred. Just as he was about to reenter the palace, the warrior paused, turning back toward the gathered figures.

"And one of you, escort Yerrig to his ship."


	95. 3-19 Guides

**Chapter Nineteen: Guides**

There was an eerie quiet as Jresh walked the empty halls of Yerrig's palace. With each step, the sounds of his feet colliding with the pristine floor echoed throughout the grandiose chambers. The warrior made his way to Yerrig's office, only to discover that it was as empty as the halls that preceded it. The plans and diagrams, that once covered the room with an organized chaos, had been utterly disheveled and tossed about. Terminals had been accessed, the safe on the far wall had been rummaged through, and Lorrik was nowhere to be found.

Stepping inside, the Pureblood found himself oddly intrigued by the slaver's base of operations. He passed his gaze over the works that now littered the floor. Maps. Surveys. Blueprints. Designs that by themselves were nothing more than the benign tools of industry. It was the will of a single man that determined the fates of every person on this planet. Yerrig held such a place of prominence, that if only the slightest of minor details regarding him had been altered, the ramifications would have been vast.

A different ideal. A different attitude. A different strategy. Any difference at all regarding this single entity, and the lives of hundreds would have been fundamentally altered. Only now did the warrior realize, that with the simplest and easiest of motions, he forever altered the fates of everyone tied to this man. He had removed an entire element from a complex equation, single handedly forcing a new destiny to emerge. Years in the Academy had conditioned the Pureblood to believe that his actions could only directly affect those around him. He once believed that he could affect nothing beyond the reach of his own hands. Such limitations would be proven false. And for the things he could get his hands on, he'd find their reach quiet extensive.

Stirring himself from his own thought, Jresh was ready to leave in search of his companion, when the encased crystal upon Yerrig's desk caught his eye. The warrior picked up the glass cube and held it in the palm of his hand. Within the display case, the golden crystal shimmered as the room's light passed through it. It was a thing of beauty, enough color shining through its translucent structure whilst remaining free of imperfections. As Jresh studied it further, he realized that the crystal seemed oddly unfamiliar.

Stepping into the hallway, the Pureblood maintained his grip on the encased crystal, carrying it with him as he ventured toward the domicile of Lorrik's parents. As he arrived, he could hear the warm murmurs of conversation on the other side of the door. Lightly tapping his knuckles on his entrance, Jresh paused for a moment before entering.

The door rescinded, and the warrior was greeted with the pleasant sight of Lorrik and his parents sitting in the living area. The inquisitor and his family wore smiles they had not worn in quite some time. All three of them housed an internal pain, physical and emotional, but it could not dampen the overwhelming joy each of them displayed. It was a sight unlike any the Pureblood had laid eyes on before. It was a scene he long ago thought impossible to attain for people like himself and his partner. And yet, right before him, Lorrik found himself in the company of those he loved most. More so now that Jresh had walked through the door.

"Jresh! Come over here, have a seat," Lorrik welcomed, patting the adjacent cushion on the couch. The warrior remained stilled for a moment, watching as the warm faces of the Velash family fell upon him.

"Yerrig's gone," Jresh softly stated, as he made his way toward his partner.

The inquisitor breathed a sigh of relief. "So that's it then. Somehow I thought it'd be less simple. I guess I'm so used to dealing with other Sith… it's weird seeing someone so afraid of me."

The warrior took a seat beside his companion, setting the encased crystal on the adjacent armrest. "The feeling is mutual."

"Really? I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but it seems only natural that some people should fear you," Lorrik jokingly declared.

"I meant how weird it was seeing someone afraid of you," Jresh corrected.

Lorrik offered his partner a playful jab to the arm. "You don't have to say it so nonchalantly." Meanwhile, Lorrik's parents looked upon the two Sith with a hesitant curiosity. "Oh, I don't think I properly introduced you… Jresh, this is Meylin and Garen Velash."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Jresh said with the bow of his head.

"Likewise," Meylin stated. "Lorrik's been telling us a lot about you."

"Has he?" Jresh muttered, playfully arching his brow.

"I wanted to make sure they were comfortable with the whole 'Sith' thing," Lorrik admitted. "Didn't want there to be any confusion regarding me or you."

"And how far did you get explaining the 'whole Sith thing'?" Jresh asked.

"Not very," Meylin answered for her son. The mother let out a soft chuckle. "He was too busy asking about my arm."

"All I'm saying is that we can get you a cybernetic one," Lorrik stated, scratching the back of his head. "Artificial limbs aren't that expensive, and we're going to have some credits coming in."

"We are?" Jresh asked.

"Assuming Arlia manages to sell her crystals," Lorrik reminded. "It's not like I'm going to need them, so whatever my cut ends up being, I want to use it helping out my parents and the other slaves."

"Yerrig left behind a considerable amount of wealth, did he not?" Jresh asked. "I promised a portion to what remained of his security to protect the freed slaves. The rest could be spent helping the workers start new lives."

"There should more than enough for that," Garen said. The father spoke with his son's candor, but his voice possessed a heavy gravel in its tone. "Most of the workers would want nothing more than a handful of credits and a ship offworld."

"What about repurposing the mines?" Lorrik suggested. "Replace the workers with droids. Build suitable housing. Buy some detoxifiers, clean up the area, turn this place into somewhere worth living. I mean, it would be a challenge, but it would be home. And profits from the mines could go directly to the settlement."

"This place is no home," Garen softly declared. "Even if we wiped away every last trace of Yerrig's operations, this place is forever stained by his actions."

"Are you sure?" Lorrik asked. "I mean, I can understand wanting to leave someplace behind you, but there aren't a lot of better options out there. The galaxy's a big place… but an extremely limited one as well."

"Life is limited, Lorrik," Garen muttered. "All we can do is hope, and pray, that we might be given some semblance of control over those limitations. When you were taken ten years ago, your mother and I were 'freed', given a place to live amongst luxury, cared for in almost every way imaginable… and we were miserable. Utterly, utterly miserable. Not knowing whether it would last into the next day. Being stuck here. Trapped. Limited. But we weren't slaves, we had been given a new life, we should have been overjoyed. And for the first few days, after we came to terms with your departure, we were. But there's a difference between giving someone a new life, and giving them the chance at a better one. You can help these people. That, I believe wholeheartedly. But if you attempt to dictate their lives, regardless of your intentions, they'll resent you as much as Yerrig."

Lorrik bit his lip as his eyes fell to the floor. "I just want what's best for you. What's best for them."

"We can't decide what's best for others," Garen stated. "We can try to justify it. We'll say we know better. We'll say we're looking out for them. We'll say that everything we do, we do because it is absolutely necessary. But none of us are perfect. None of us will ever be perfect. The best we can do, is offer one another guidance. Understanding that, marks the difference between a leader and a tyrant. A mentor and a controller. A parent… and something else."

"It seems like telling other people how to live their lives is a Sith tradition," Lorrik said, tearing his gaze from the floor. In a single, swift motion, the inquisitor lifted himself from his seat. "Luckily, I've never considered myself much of a traditionalist."

Moving toward the domicile's exit, Lorrik looked back to his family and partner.

"You stay here. I'm going to go make an announcement."

With a smile gracing his lips, the inquisitor ducked out of the living area, leaving Jresh alone with the Human's parents. There was an awkward silence as the Pureblood sat across from his companion's family, who looked to him without an ounce of trepidation or discomfort. The same could not be said for the warrior.

"I should be with him… in case he needs help," Jresh declared, trying his best to maintain his composed stoicism.

"Go ahead," Meylin advised, smile upon her face, her words followed by firm nod from her husband. Jresh offered a nod of his own, taking a step toward the exit. The warrior paused, picking up the encased crystal before resuming his trek. Stepping out into the vacant halls of Yerrig's palace, Jresh could see his partner heading for the deceased slave master's offices.

"Lorrik," Jresh called out, before rushing to catch up with his companion. The inquisitor halted his pace, allowing the Pureblood to take his place by his side.

"What's the matter?" Lorrik teased. "The parents make you uncomfortable?"

"I wouldn't say that," Jresh stated.

"Of course you wouldn't," Lorrik offered with a chuckle. "Then again, what we're willing to say and what we truly feel are oft unaligned, are they not?"

"Yes, I was uncomfortable," Jresh bluntly admitted, maintaining his rigid gait and stoic demeanor. "Your mother and father are kind, loving people. They possess traits I had long since stopped believing in. Seeing them care, hearing them speak, it reminds me of my own parents. A thought simultaneously uplifting and burdening. Sitting in there, I start to forget about these last two years. I start to forget about Tash and Syrosk. I start to forget that I am a Sith. Things that I know I can't afford to forget. Not now. Not until our work is done."

The inquisitor was surprised with his partner's candor. "Wow, I honestly wasn't expecting you to be so open. Any other admissions you'd care to make?" Lorrik teasingly inquired.

"I killed Yerrig," Jresh stated. The inquisitor stopped dead in his tracks.

"What?" Lorrik muttered, confusion overtaking his face. The Pureblood stopped ahead of his companion.

"I asked if he was willing and able to start up a new operation elsewhere. He answered yes on both accounts," Jresh explained. "That made him a threat and a liability, so I made sure he wouldn't… couldn't hurt anyone else."

"I see," Lorrik replied, no hint of surprise or displeasure in his voice. "A part of me wanted him dead. A part of me wanted to wrap my hands around his throat and watch the life leave his eyes."

"No. It's better that you didn't. That's not you," Jresh declared.

"Oh, but it's okay for me to make you do it?" Lorrik offered, a slight whimper in his voice.

"It was my decision. My choice," Jresh emphatically stated. " I was protecting you, just as I had done a few days ago. Only this time, I acted not out of blind rage, but a centered calm. I could not risk Yerrig starting the cycle all over again, but neither could I risk the same fate I suffered befalling you. I protect you, not because you are weak, but because you are strong. And I would see that strength preserved. Cultivated. Allowed to flourish."

The inquisitor locked eyes with his companion, and the two shared a silent, impassioned connection.

"I love you, I hope you realize that," Lorrik offered, as his lips curled into a smile.

"I know," Jresh quickly replied, wearing a smile of his own.

"Come on, I have a speech to give," Lorrik stated as he resumed his journey toward the Yerrig's office. The Pureblood remained where he stood for a moment as he arched his brow.

"Speech?" Jresh muttered to himself.

Within the disorganized mess that was Yerrig's primary place of operations, Lorrik moved with calculated steps amongst the terminals that lined the walls.

"When I was poking around earlier, I uncovered Yerrig's communications systems," Lorrik stated. "This terminal here's linked to every mine, every house, every building within the man's domain. It's time to give the workforce an update."

Placing his hands on the communications terminal, the inquisitor leaned in close as he opened a channel with every available speaker.

"Attention," Lorrik began, his voice calm but firm. "My name is Lorrik Velash. I am here to announce that Olto Yerrig is dead. His mines will be closed. His slaves will be freed. His enforcers will be relieved of their duty. His funds will be divided and distributed amongst you all, provided you do not take this newfound revelation as a reason to lash out against one another. This is the beginning of a new life. You are no longer slaves. You are no longer slave masters. You are people. People who can accept the gift that I offer, or receive nothing. The choice is yours. Transports will arrive in the next few days. They will take you to the locations of your choosing. Once you are off this planet, you control your own fate. And the instant you are off this planet, others will try to strip you of that control. No matter where you go in this galaxy, there are those who would seek to enslave you, literally and figuratively. Those who seek sanctuary amongst the Republic will find themselves buried and forgotten amongst the masses. Those who journey to Imperial space will find themselves tested if not outright broken. Those who seek to hide amongst the neutral territories will find themselves in the domain of men who make Yerrig seem benevolent by comparison. I cannot promise a good life, but I can promise you all a second chance. How you utilize it is up to you. Please, everyone return to your quarters, and plan for your futures. Dismissed."

Lorrik closed the outward channel and tore himself away from the communications terminal, taking and releasing a deep breath as he did so.

"Succinct, but effective," Jresh offered.

"I can only hope no one tries to do anything stupid," Lorrik admitted. "It's hard letting go of a grudge. Not to mention, the other workers didn't exactly have the luxury of living in the palace for the past ten years like my parents. We lost the enforcers their jobs and surrounded them with a bunch of newly freed slaves, whilst they still have their equipment and weapons. It's a recipe for disaster."

"It seems like most of what we do is," Jresh declared. "Sometimes, all you can do is act, then endure."

"I guess so," Lorrik stated. "Come on, let's unload our stuff from the shuttle. We're going to be living here for the next few days."

The Pureblood nodded before stepping out of the office, the inquisitor following soon after. The two Sith walked the halls, side by side, satisfied with the results they had achieved. As the pair approached the palace's front entrance, Lorrik noticed the encased crystal his companion continued to hold within his hand.

"I didn't know you were one for souvenirs," Lorrik joked. The Pureblood raised the ornament, holding it in front of him as he continued to walk.

"It's not a souvenir. It's just…" Jresh began, before trailing off, a hint of confusion in his voice.

"Something the matter?" Lorrik asked.

"Just… a bit of curiosity," Jresh admitted. The inquisitor looked to his partner with an arch in his brow.

"What? You'll confess to being uncomfortable with my parents but won't tell me your thoughts about a simple trinket?" Lorrik teased.

The warrior continued to stare into the golden crystal for a few seconds, before finally breaking his silence. "This is what this entire operation was about, correct? This is what Yerrig was digging for?"

"Yeah," Lorrik replied. "Luxury gem. Pretty rare. I think Yerrig's charts listed only a few planets in seven systems in which it could be found."

"I can't help but notice that this crystal is different from the one I supposedly had already seen," Jresh explained. "Different transparency, colorization, makeup. I'm starting to question whether Syrosk's amulet is really composed of the same material. But if that were the case, then I'd wonder what sort of gem the amulet actually holds. And then I wonder what reason you would have to mislead Syrosk about its origin." The inquisitor continued to walk in silence, eyes affixed to the path ahead. "Lorrik?"

"The line between guidance and manipulation is a blurred one," Lorrik softly declared. "That fact, is the curse of the Sith. One that Syrosk learned too late. One I continue to puzzle with. Regardless of that amulet's power or purpose, the end result was that it held power over Syrosk. Restricted him. I needed him to believe in people, not things. I needed him to believe in himself. I needed him to believe that others believed in him."

"So you lied to him."

"I lied, so that he would accept the truth," Lorrik admitted. "His master believed in him. His students believed in him. If not for Tash, if not for the rest of the Order looking down upon him since they first acknowledged his presence, maybe he'd have reason to believe in himself. I gave him a reason when he couldn't find one."

Jresh looked deep into the shimmering crystal as he two Sith continued their journey in silence. Soon, they found themselves amongst the palace exterior, Imperial shuttle firmly within their sights.


	96. 3-20 Lights

**Chapter Twenty: Lights**

Within the passenger bay of the Imperial shuttle, Lorrik and Jresh gathered their stored belongings under the watchful electronic eyes of the vessel's Astromechanical Logistics Droid. Luggage in hand, the two Sith were ready to temporarily move in to the fallen slave master's palace.

"You know, I wonder how the others are doing," Lorrik stated.

"Well enough, I suppose," Jresh replied. "They are every bit as skilled and resourceful as we are."

"I wonder where they went. Somehow I don't see any of the others toppling any slaving operations," Lorrik offered with a light chuckle.

* * *

Nar Shaddaa. The Promenade. The lights of underworld splendor hovered high above the world's metallic surface. A floating assemblage of shops, markets, and trade centers. The illegitimate legitimized and codified, watched over by the silent enforcers of the Hutt Cartel. A nexus for tourists and off-worlders, given a peek at the dark delights that surrounded them in every direction.

In the lower Promenade, within a small shop nestled amongst its kin, a lone figure sat behind a lone counter, surrounded by a litany of small trinkets and scavenged items lining the walls. The Devaronian male exuded an utterly uncouth demeanor and facade, placing him amongst pirates and smugglers rather than legitimate businessmen. The shopkeeper leaned back in his chair, feet upon the counter, picking at his teeth with his fingernail. The lethargic trader fell out of his seat when a large case was dropped on the countertop with a resounding thud.

"Hey, I got stuff to sell," Arlia spoke up, rather terse. A low grumble emanated from behind the counter as the Devaronian slowly lifted himself from the floor.

"Who the hell-" the shopkeeper muttered before poking his head over the counter, and catching a glimpse of the stern Twi'lek that stood across from him. The snarl upon the Devaronian's face quickly faded as he found himself lost in Arlia's purple eyes. Her sharpened, glaring purple eyes. Returning to his seat, the shopkeep quickly dusted himself off before casually leaning against his counter. "How can I be of service?"

Arlia offered the subtle arch of her brow toward the oddly smitten trader. "I hear you're in the artifact trade."

"You hear right, missy," the Devaronian playfully declared alongside a snap of his fingers. "The name's Whess. Geological marvels. Archeological treasures. Jedi artifacts. One-of-a-kind items for the collector who finds value in the finer things. I buy, sell, and trade-"

"Alright, alright, enough," Arlia interrupted, rolling her eyes at the chatty dealer. "Like I said, stuff to sell. Can you help me or not?"

"But of course, the only question is… what are you looking to sell?" Whess asked as he leaned in, not put off by the Twi'lek's derisiveness in the least.

Without a word, Arlia reached over the container in front of her, loosening its latch and prying it's cover open toward the shopkeeper. The Devaronian's eyes grew large as he looked upon the sparkling assortment of crystals placed in front of him.

"Ah, lightsaber crystals. How's a lovely thing like you attain such a collection? Theft? Con job? Childhood friends with a Jedi… or Mandalorian?"

"They didn't belong to Jedi," Arlia explained. "Well, their last owner wasn't a Jedi. They're from a tomb on Korriban."

"Sith artifacts!" Whess perked up.

"That going to be a problem?"

"Not at all!" Whess clarified. "In fact, that makes them all the more valuable. They were already in short supply before the war. Nowadays it's almost impossible to get ahold of anything significant before the Jedi or Sith get their hands on them. And let me tell yah, they don't like to let go. How did you manage to get these?"

"Like I said, tomb on Korriban," Arlia restated, completely deadpan.

"I'm not about to have some angry Sith in my shop looking for these, am I?" Whess asked.

Arlia snapped the lid of the container shut, and leaned in close until she was face to face with the startled Devaronian. "I AM the angry Sith in your shop," the inquisitor harshly declared, almost whispering. The dealer tensed up in his seat as the Twi'lek continued to cast her sharpened glare. "Can you sell them?"

"I… uh… yeah… I mean… yeah," Whess stammered.

"How long these things take to sell?" Arlia asked, almost to the point of interrogation.

"Uh, that depends on who's buying," Whess carefully answered. "There's usually someone willing to pay a hefty sum for things like this, but moving a collection of this size could take a while. I can set up a consignment deal and try selling them piece by piece-"

The inquisitor let out a soft groan. "Look, I don't plan to stay on this awful moon any longer than I have to. Can I just sell this all to you right now, and you just do… whatever with it?"

"Oh… uh, yeah, I would be amendable to that," Whess admitted. "How much are you looking to get out of them?"

"I don't know, how much are they worth?" Arlia plainly asked.

"You mean, you don't know?"

"No. I don't," Arlia admitted. Once more the sharpened her gaze and leaned in close to the shopkeep. "But you wouldn't think about trying to cheat me? Would you?"

"No! No, of course not!" Whess quickly replied.

"Good. Have my credits ready by the time I get back," Arlia directed as she turned toward the shop's exit. "Oh, and I don't really have any accounts or anything, so I'll need physical currency."

Whess flinched. "Are you crazy? You can't walk around Nar Shaddaa with unbound credit chips that valuable! You won't be able to take two steps off the Promenade before getting assaulted."

"I can take care of myself," Arlia stoically declared as she stepped out of the shop. The Devaronian was left gawking at the vacated space before the inquisitor poked her head back into the establishment. "Oh, and if I come back and you, my crystals, or my credits aren't here… I will hunt you down and destroy you and everything you've ever loved."

Without another word, the Twi'lek was gone and the Devaronian was left to his own devices. Arlia walked alone across the glittering neon plaza that comprised the lower Promenade. She passed market stands and vendors with a deadened gaze, eyes permanently affixed ahead of her, not a single light or sound sufficient enough to distract her. She walked with purpose. She walked with destination firmly in mind.

The Twi'lek appeared simultaneously at home and at odds with her surroundings. Her violet skin was as eye catching as any advertisement that dotted the ecumenopolis. Though only her arms went uncovered, the mix of formfitting and gracefully flowing clothes that caressed her body could do a suitable job captivating the interest of the area's typical male denizens. If not for the lightsaber at her waist, she could have been mistaken for one of Nar Shaddaa's permanent residents. But she felt no familiarity toward the wretched hive of wanton splendor. Every groveling merchant, every stumbling drunkard she laid eyes upon merely cemented the idea that she did not belong amongst them. They were the 'normals'. She was Sith.

Arlia's time on the Promenade neared its end as she stepped on one of the floating district's various outcroppings, one which held a healthy number of taxis awaiting a steady stream of customers. Approaching the droid dispatcher, the Twi'lek momentarily paused, patting herself down, only now realizing the paltry sum of credits see possessed had been given to Isorr or stashed alongside the crystals. The inquisitor's shoulders slumped as she contemplated returning to Whess, before promptly rejecting the idea. Instead, she set her eyes upon the lone figure addressing the taxi droid. Young. Male. Garb of a spacer. Scruff of an upstart miscreant.

Letting out a brief sigh, Arlia stealthily approached the man, stopping just short of his flank. Standing behind the young spacer, the inquisitor straightened her stance and tucked her lightsaber into the inside of her pants. Making sure she was in earshot, Arlia began hastily patting herself down, releasing the occasional whimper.

"Oh no! Ohno ohno ohno!" Arlia shrieked. In the corner of her eye, she could see the spacer turn to face her. "My credit chip! Where is it?"

Seeing the young Twi'lek in distress, the spacer immediately sought to console her. "Whoa, hey. What's wrong?"

"I can't find my credit chip. That… that was all my money," Arlia bawled. "Oh goddess. What am I going to do now? I can't afford a shuttle offworld, I can't even afford a taxi. I'm going to have to go back to dancing for some slimy Hutt…"

"Hey, no, you won't have to do that," the spacer softly whispered. "If you need a ride, I've got a ship. I'd be more than happy to take you away from here."

"Really?" Arlia perked up, turning a smile. "Oh, I don't know how I'd begin to repay you…"

"Don't worry, I'm sure we can work something out," the spacer warmly declared.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you so very much!" Arlia emphatically stated, softly clutching the spacer's hand with her own. "You have no idea what this means to me. Come on, Let's go!"

"You got it," the spacer offered, almost heroic in his candor.

Pulling a credit chip from his pocket, the man handed it to the droid attendant who directed him toward one of the open taxis. Together, Arlia and the spacer approached the vehicle, the Twi'lek happily taking her spot on the passenger's side. Sitting in the pilot's seat, the spacer fired up the taxi's systems and set a course.

"Next stop, Nar Shaddaa starport," the spacer stated as the vehicle lifted from its landed position. Arlia peered over the taxi's edge as it lifted higher and higher, before finally leaving the Promenade outcropping. Shifting in her seat, the Twi'lek began rifling through her pockets, before finally retrieving a single sheet of flimsiplast. "What'cha got there?"

The inquisitor ignored the spacer's inquiry, her attention focused completely on the sheet's message. "You any good with a blaster?" Arlia asked, eyes still affixed to the sheet, voice devoid of any previous giddiness.

"What? I don't have a blaster," the spacer confusingly admitted.

"Eh, probably for the best. You'd just slow me down," Arlia muttered to herself.

"Huh?"

* * *

Along one of the Promenade's outcroppings, a pair of Humans conversed with the taxi droid. Out of nowhere, a lone spacer fell from above, impacting against the metallic surface as a taxi passed quickly overhead. Lying motionless on his side, the fallen figure released a low, hushed groan.

Now firmly within the pilot's seat, Arlia punched a new destination into the taxi's guidance system. The vehicle carried its lone passenger toward one of Nar Shaddaa's lower wards, far from the starport, far from the Promenade, far from the public eye. Down into the dark bowels of a world untraveled except by those with specific, calculated desires. Minutes of high speed travel passed before the inquisitor came across a nondescript landing pad deep below the glamorized skyline. Touching down, Arlia powered down the taxi and stepped out.

The air was calm and quiet, the bustling traffic above providing only softest of murmurs at this depth. Journeying deeper into the shadowed district, Arlia retrieved her lightsaber and kept it firmly grasped within her hand. The tight pathways and corridors she traversed seemed designed exclusively for pedestrian traffic. Traffic that was currently nonexistent. With each step she took, the sounds of Nar Shaddaa's exterior faded until they were finally silenced. With each step she took, she inched closer and closer to her targeted destination.

Finally, the Twi'lek stood in front of a simple door. Nondescript. Devoid of signage or adornment. Utterly unremarkable to the uninitiated. Touching the exterior control panel, she realized it was locked. She knocked. No response. She ignited her weapon, and thrust its purple blade through the electronic lock. She pulled the blade out to a show of sparks and molten metal before watching the door rescind.

The inquisitor was greeted with the sight of an empty waiting room. Sparsely decorated, but ultimately familiar in its every facet. Arlia panned her gaze about the empty chamber, eyes sharpened, ignited lightsaber still held within her firm clutch.

"You've a visitor, Matron!" Arlia shouted before making her way deeper into the compound. Passing through the next door, the Twi'lek walked down a narrow corridor, a series of doors lining either side of her, behind each of which sat a compact, solitary chamber. Test rooms. Places for clients to preview the merchandise. Arlia marched forward, paying them no attention, other than lightly carving their surface with the tip of her blade as she moved past them. Each step she took was utterly calculated, the layout of her surroundings having been etched into her memory long ago. Deeper and deeper she marched, knowing exactly where she was headed.

A couple of sharp turns down the various narrow corridors and pathways led the inquisitor to a dead end. No outlet, only a single room resting at the end of a hallway. An office. Where the entirety of organic interaction was condensed and simplified into mere numerical and monetary figures. Not even guarded by a locked door. With the swift motion of her free hand, the barrier rescinded, granting Arlia sight into the only room she had never seen as a child.

Surpassing any room that preceded it, the office was a picture of refined tastes and regality, walls adorned with paintings, sculptures upon pedestals dotting the floor. Opposite the entrance sat a large desk, a rare piece of wooden furnishing amongst the metals and artificial lights above. Crouching behind said desk, a lone figure furiously rummaged through its drawers before finally coming up brandishing a blaster pistol.

"Hello Matron," Arlia muttered, utterly stoic. "Here I am. Returned and in satisfactory condition."

The Matron possessed the same stylings and appearance she had a decade ago, the already matured Zeltron still possessing the sense of refined beauty about her even in her advanced age. Same pink skin. Same purple hair restrained in a bun. Same exotic white garb that balanced the look of politician and consort. Without a word, the Matron discharged her weapon. The red bolt surged across the office before reflecting off the inquisitor's saber and colliding against the wall in a quick burst of smoke.

Arlia thrust her free hand forward, releasing a powerful Force push that targeted not the Matron, but her desk. Caught by the telekinetic wave, the heavy desk slid backward, impacting against the Zeltron and shoving her back before pinning her against the wall. As she felt her lower half being crushed, the Matron watched the Twi'lek slowly approach her. Attempting to fire another bolt from her pistol, the Zeltron was unable to as an invisible force ripped the weapon from her grip.

"Is that any way to treat a guest?" Arlia muttered, closing what remained of the gap between them. "Don't tell me you've forgotten who I am."

The Matron struggled to speak through pained breaths. "I know… exactly who you-"

"That's right," Arlia interrupted. "The one who got away. Or, more appropriately, the one who came back. You can't tell me you didn't see this happening sooner or later. You can only ruin so many lives before someone comes along looking to ruin yours."

"Because Sith are such benevolent creatures," the Matron muttered as she felt the crushing force against her legs intensify. "You think you're better than me? You're not-"

The inquisitor quickly grabbed ahold of the Matron's jaws with her free hand, pulling her face in close. "What gave you impression this was about being the better person? This is about me, and you, and the things you were prepared to put me through… all for a few measly credits. This isn't about making the galaxy a better place, this is about ending the life of someone who was once prepared to end mine. You should thank me for the brevity in which I have chosen to operate."

The Matron's eyes began to water as she struggled to speak, the Twi'lek's hand tightly held over her mouth. "Please. I have a daughter."

"I don't care," Arlia sternly declared, before slipping the blade of her saber into the Zeltron's abdomen. The Matron jostled for a moment before going limp. Arlia withdrew her blade as she watched the last spark of life leave the Zeltron's eyes. Releasing her grip on the Matron's face, her body was allowed for fall against the desk where she would remain indefinitely. Arlia continued to stare at the fallen figure for a few seconds before briskly vacating the office.

Navigating the narrow corridors once more, the inquisitor stood at an intersection of hallways. She knew the way out, but she stood with momentary pause as she darted her gaze down the available passageways. After a moment of thinking, she set down a corridor, one that did not lead to the exit. She eventually found herself traversing a narrow hallway, beset on both sides by a series of doors. Living quarters.

Drawing her lightsaber, the Twi'lek ignited the purple blade before holding it to her side, parallel with the doors' control panels. She began walking down the corridor, skimming her blade against the walls, destroying each door system as she passed it. One by one, the doors raised. She had opened eight rooms before returning along the opposite site, opening eight more.

Emerging from one of rooms, a child not yet in her teens hesitantly poked her head out. She scanned the hallways up and down, seeing only the curious figure wielding a blade of purple light. "Where's the Matron?"

"Dead," Arlia stoically explained. "You're free. Go."

More and more of the children began to poke their heads out of their solitary rooms, none opting to fully surpass their threshold and step into the hallway. Boys and girls of varying species, all aged from ten to their early teens. All garbed in simple, but well-kept attire. Despite there being sixteen rooms, the number of children present was only a fraction of that.

"Do you really mean it?" another child quietly asked.

"Yep," Arlia briskly answered, opening the door to the final living quarter. "Matron's dead. You're all free to go."

"Where?" another child asked.

"What do you mean where? I don't know. Anywhere. Not here."

"How are we supposed to get there?" another questioned.

"Figure it out. I'm done here," Arlia declared as she disengaged her lightsaber.

"Can we come with you?"

"No," Arlia brushed off.

"Why not?"

"Because," Arlia stated. "Besides, can't fit all of you in a taxi."

"What are we supposed to do?"

"Nothing. Anything. I don't know," Arlia answered, increasingly flustered. "I was in the same position when I was your age. I wanted something, I had to go out and take it. Nobody gave me anything."

Slowly, as her own words swirled within her head, the inquisitor began to realize how untrue that was. If it hadn't been for Vai Thorel, she would have remained with the Matron. If not for Syrosk and Isorr, she would be stuck at the bottom rung of the Academy. If not for Lorrik, she had no idea what things would be like for her and the other apprentices. All the pain, all the hate, it had clouded her mind, made it impossible to perceive anything but the worst around her. On Korriban, any kind or benevolent action would be ignored in favor of the awful, selfish actions carried out by her peers. By herself.

Turning back down the hallway, she saw twelve children, all looking to her with wide, confused, worried eyes. Standing amongst the small crowd, was a young girl. Violet skin. Lekku adorned with a stylish head wrap.

* * *

Sitting on a bench in the lower Promenade, the sights and sounds of splendor once more dominated the surrounding atmosphere. In one of the open areas, Arlia sat alone on a bench, arms spread wide and resting on the seat's back. She was alone, because in front of her, twelve children ran about chasing one another amidst the sounds of youthful joy and exuberance.

Amidst the various sounds competing for dominance amongst the lower Promenade, the one able to cut through them all was that of the inquisitor letting out a heavy sigh.


	97. 3-21 Regrets

**Chapter Twenty One: Regrets**

Under the colorful lights and sounds of Nar Shaddaa's towering skyscrapers, two figures walked together toward the Promenade's core.

"I'm just saying… HAD we gone to Ryloth we could have done something like that," the abashed Twi'lek stated.

"One, how would we even get our hands on explosives?" his Rattataki partner asked. "Two, how would we walk away without blowing ourselves up?"

"I don't know… the Force?"

The Rattataki let out a boisterous laugh, prompting a reserved smile to creep upon her companion's face. Together, they found themselves approaching one of the many overlooks of the upper Promenade, granting them a look into the marketplaces that surrounded the golden plaza below. Basking in the glow of the colored lights that shined down on them from the countless sources above, the two Sith almost appeared as if they were at home on the debased moon.

Kar'ai maintained her usual attire, armorweave leggings and boots with a minimally garbed torso. The plethora of barbed and hooked tattoos that covered her toned body would have placed her amongst enforcers, pirates, pit fighters, and more, if not for the lightsaber resting at her hip.

Ryloh, at the behest of his partner, had shed the outer layers of his many-layered inquisitor's robes. Gone were the hooded cloak and almost suffocating countenance he had enveloped himself in. Instead, only the simplest pieces of his already minimalist black robes hugged his body. In the end, he appeared as a markedly gloomy senator. The underworld trader. The 'dealer' to his partner's 'muscle'. Even in an unfamiliar place, amongst unfamiliar peoples, the two looked like they belonged with one another.

The pair stopped at the ledge of the upper Promenade walkway, the two of them leaning against the waist-high barrier as they looked toward the plaza below.

"So, what do you want to do?" Kar'ai warmly asked of her partner. "Hit the casino? Go shopping? Find an underground fight club?"

"I don't know," Ryloh muttered. "I've never been in a place like this. Hell, I've never been in a situation like this. I mean, since my earliest memories, I've had nothing but awful dust balls beneath my feat. Ryloth. Korriban. Not known for being pleasure destinations."

"Rattatak was pretty much just like Korriban… only paler. So I understand the feeling," Kar'ai admitted. "But pleasure is greatest when derived from new experiences."

"I've heard those words before," Ryloh said with a smirk.

"And have they ever led you astray?" Kar'ai offered with a gentle poke of her elbow.

"No," Ryloh admitted, staring blissfully into the distance. "Well… there was that one time."

"Come on, I thought everything went okay."

"Yeah, but… lightsabers aren't candles Kar'ai," Ryloh muttered. "Lightsabers aren't candles…"

The pair looked onward in silence for a moment, as the Rattataki scratched the back of her head.

"Well, what do you think? I'm sure we can find something fun to do here," Kar'ai stated.

"Yeah. But paying for it is another matter," Ryloh offered. "We don't exactly have a lot of credits to our name."

Pursing her lips and furrowing her brow, the warrior seemed locked in deep thought. "Well, there's Arlia…"

"Oh, right." Ryloh spoke up. "She was supposed to be getting us all some credits, right? I wonder how she's doing."

"Why don't you go ask her. She's literally right there," Kar'ai declared, pointing a finger toward the plaza below. The blue Twi'lek offered a confused look before affixing his gaze to the grounds of the lower Promenade. Carefully searching the bustling scenery beneath them, he eventually managed to pick out their fellow apprentice amongst the surrounding figures. She sat alone on a bench, stilled, as those around her saw fit to parade about in a childlike manner.

"Huh. Small galaxy," Ryloh muttered. Looking up, he saw his partner already making her way toward the lower Promenade. "Whoa, hey, where are you going?"

"To see Arlia, to see how she's doing," Kar'ai shouted back, not pausing her advance.

"Is that a good idea?" Ryloh asked, rushing to catch up with his partner. "I mean, maybe she wants to be alone. She's here for a reason. We don't want to go around, interrupting people vendettas or nothing. She probably doesn't want to be bothered."

Ignoring her companion's half-hearted protests, Kar'ai continued her trek toward the plaza below, shortly joined by the compliant Ryloh. Traversing one of the ramps connecting the upper and lower Promenade, the two Sith examined the curious scene that surrounded the sitting inquisitor. A group of children buzzed about the area near Arlia, chasing one another, the occasional sound of laughter bouncing between them. Gazing across the golden plaza, the violet Twi'lek finally noticed Kar'ai and Ryloh approaching her.

"Hey," Arlia offered, frighteningly nonchalant, bordering on stoic.

"Hey yourself," Kar'ai replied, closing the gap between them. Standing in front of the seated inquisitor, the group of children continued to flutter about without a care. "How's things? You manage to take care of, you know, everything you wanted to?"

"Yeah," Arlia answered after a pause, same soft stoicism in her voice. As Ryloh and Kar'ai looked to her, her gaze seemed transfixed to the space behind them, staring at nothing in particular.

"Is everything alright?"

Arlia continued to stare off into the distance as her arms remained spread across the bench's back. "Yeah."

"Where's Isorr?" Ryloh spoke up.

"Dromund Kaas," Arlia explained. "Dropped him off at the orbital station before making my way here by myself."

"What's he doing on Kaas?" Ryloh followed up.

"Don't know. Same thing as the rest of us, I suppose. Settling scores and what have you. Why are you two on Nar Shaddaa?"

"Well, we were heading to Ryloth before Ryloh got cold feet half way there," Kar'ai explained.

"Turns out I had family there I didn't know about. A sister," Ryloh stated.

"What made you change your mind?" Arlia wondered.

"She's undoubtedly a slave," Ryloh explained. "We wouldn't be able to see her, let alone free her without confronting the entire slaving operation. And even if we managed to free her, given the current course we seem to find ourselves on, we would just be endangering her by taking her with us."

"Huh," Arlia muttered alongside a quick bob of her head as her gaze seemed to pan up toward the sky.

"So… what have you been up to?" Ryloh hesitantly asked.

"Oh, you know," Arlia began, not lowering her gaze, "same old."

The other two Sith puzzled at the inquisitor's newfound lackadaisicalness. Before they could inquire further, a pair of children rushed by, coming to a stop between them and the sitting Twi'lek.

"Arlia, we're thirsty," a young girl bemoaned. Arlia lowered her gaze, momentarily settling upon the pair of children in front of her, before bending over. Reaching beneath the bench, the inquisitor slid a footlocker out between her legs. Barely cracking open the container's lid, Arlia poked a hand inside before retrieving a small credit chip.

"Here," Arlia said, holding the chip out to the children. "Don't buy anything you've never heard of."

"Okay! Thanks, Miss Arlia!" one of the kids bellowed as she snatched the credit chip. Not a moment later, the two children began to rush toward the market across the plaza.

"What'd I say about calling me 'Miss'?" Arlia shouted at them, hot-tempered, but without an ounce of hostility.

"Whoa, wait," Kar'ai spoke up. "You know these kids?"

"Yeah," Arlia nonchalantly admitted. "Came to Nar Shaddaa for two reasons. To sell crystals and to kill someone. Succeeded on both accounts."

"Who'd you kill?" Kar'ai asked.

"The person who owned these kids. The person who once owned me," Arlia admitted.

"What? You never told us you were a former slave," Ryloh blurted out.

The other Twi'lek offered only the silent arch of her brow.

"So, you freed all these kids," Kar'ai mused, gently scratching her chin. "How noble of you."

"Not really," Arlia replied. "All I did was kill their captor. They were freed by proxy. I was just kind enough to give them a ride from one wretched den to another."

"Well, they seem happy," Ryloh stated, bouncing his sights between the gathered children, a hint of trepidation in his voice.

"Of course they are!" Kar'ai boisterously replied, jabbing her partner with her elbow. "I mean, as a former slave, I'd assume you'd have a pretty firm understanding of the concept."

"Yea, but-" Ryloh managed to get out before being interrupted by Arlia.

"No, he's right to be curious," the sitting inquisitor admitted. "I thought it was weird too. I expected more, I don't know, baggage with them. And yet, here they are, running around with smiles on their faces. I thought maybe they had just managed to suppress the memories of a place awful even by Nar Shaddaa standards. Or maybe I had gotten to this group before any real damage could be done. But then I realized, I had simply dealt with the single entity they feared. With that connection severed, it was like a switch flipped, and they went back to being just a bunch of normal kids."

"Wow, what was he having them do?" Ryloh asked.

"She," Arlia corrected. "Always used to say she dealt in services, not product. Referred to us as companions. I got out of there ten years ago whilst I was still in my 'training' period. Vai showed up, fed me some nonsense story of my Sith ancestors, 'bought' me, and brought me to the Academy. For those ten years, she continued to operate. Until I came back."

"Did you have a rough time? Today, I mean," Kar'ai asked. "You seem pretty… out of it."

"No. In fact, it was the easiest thing I've ever had to do," Arlia admitted, sounding almost disappointed. "She was right where I left her ten years ago. She didn't have any guards or employees. She never needed them. She like to maintain complete and total control herself. Walked in. Went to her office. Pinned her against the wall. Ended it. The only reason things lasted as long as they did… was because I wanted them to. I thought the event worth prolonging. Thought it would yield… greater satisfaction."

The inquisitor trailed off her she lifted her gaze to the sky once more. The Twi'lek seemed almost wistful.

"That was… the one thing I looked forward to," Arlia continued, her voice soft, almost whispering. It became evident that her words were no longer intended for the pair of Sith standing in front of her. "Day after day. Month after month. Year after year. That was the singular goal that rest in my mind. Everything else… floaty, undeveloped, happenstance. Everything I did, everything I strived for on Korriban, was so that I would eventually become a person capable of getting whatever she wanted. And the only thing I really wanted, was to kill this one person. And now that I've done that, I should be happy right? Elated? After all, I've only dreamed of this day for the entirety of my adult life. But no. Instead, I'm left feeling… nothing. Absolutely nothing. No pleasure. No pain. No happiness. No sadness. Nothing good. Nothing bad. Nothing."

"When you base your entire life around subtraction, its only inevitable that you wind up at zero," Kar'ai softly declared. "I know you're meant to think that if you can just get rid of everything that makes you sad, angry, depressed… then all you'd be left with is happiness, right? Well, not if there wasn't any happiness to begin with. You want positivity? You gotta find it. You gotta make it. You."

"You're a font of motivational splendor, Kar'ai," Arlia halfheartedly said, still staring upward.

"I mean it," Kar'ai emphatically stated. "The reason you're feeling unfulfilled is because you don't know what to do with yourself when you're not being challenged. This weird feeling your experiencing? It's called relief. It's called being unburdened. But instead of making something out of it, you're just wallowing in this weird, depressing state of equilibrium. Balance is awful and fleeting. Go, tip the scales in your favor. Have some fun. Live a little outside of realm of death and manipulation and Sith stuff. You gave these kids a new life. You gave yourself a new life. Take pride in that!"

Arlia continued to gaze off into the distance, seemingly oblivious to the Rattataki's words. The warrior let out a low sigh as she felt a wall developing between herself and the inquisitor. Before either could speak up, Kar'ai looked down to see one of the children standing beside her, poking her leg.

"Excuse me," the little girl said, without an ounce of shyness. "Are you a friend of Miss Arlia?"

Kneeling down, the Rattataki wore a bright smile on her face. "Yup. Both of us are. In fact, we've been friends of hers for almost two years now."

"How did you meet?"

"We were… classmates," Kar'ai warmly replied. More of the children approached the pair of Sith, momentarily putting their jovial exercise on hold.

"Is that where you and Miss Arlia learned to fight?" a boy asked.

"So, you know about her talents, huh?" Kar'ai said with a knowing grin. "Yeah, we all went to a special school where we could hone our skills."

"Are you as good a fighter as Miss Arlia?" a third asked. By now, the entire crowd had congregated around the two Sith.

"No, no, of course not," Kar'ai playfully stated with a flippant wave of her hand. "I'm better."

The gathered children released simultaneous sounds of wonder and excitement. The small figures looked to the Rattataki with an intense fascination.

"Why are you bald?" one of the boys bluntly asked. "Aren't you supposed to be a girl?"

From behind her, the warrior could hear her partner release a quick snicker. Kar'ai herself following it with a hearty chuckle.

"I guess not everyone knows about Rattataki physiology," Kar'ai offered. "But if you think that's weird, my blue friend here doesn't any hair either. And I mean, at all. He's completely smooth, head to toe. And I'll let you in on a little secret. So is Miss Arlia. Those eyebrows? Draw on."

"Alright, that's enough!" Arlia blurted out, raising herself from her bench. "What are you doing? Why are you being this happy and friendly and warm?"

"Why aren't you?" Kar'ai teased, straightening her stance. "There aren't any other Sith here. No enemies. No one to look down on any displays of affection. And even if there were, who freakin' cares? Being a Sith should be about not having to care about what others think about you. It should be about freeing yourself from restrictions. Not having to suppress a part of you because its somehow inappropriate. What do you think, kids? Should Miss Arlia stop caring what other people think?"

"Yeah!" the children exclaimed in unison.

"You're really cool!"

"You're a good person!"

"We like you for you, Miss Arlia!"

The violet Twi'lek looked to the warm, glowing faces that stared back at her. An awkward feeling pulsed throughout the inquisitor's body as she raised an eyebrow toward the two Sith who stood across from her, each wearing smile of their own.

"Ugh," Arlia muttered, drooping her shoulders. "Can we… can we just get off this awful moon? Isorr's probably ready for pickup by now."

"Of course," Kar'ai replied, giving the inquisitor a confident nod. "You want us to take care of the kids while you… take care of whatever you need to? We can drop them off with someone who could find them new homes."

"But we wanna stay with Miss Arlia," one of the children spoke up.

"No, it's for the best," Arlia declared. Taking a step toward the kids, the inquisitor took a knee. "You won't be safe if you stay with me. I'm going to be dealing with a lot more bad people."

Looking at the faces of the gathered children, she could see tears beginning to form under their soft eyes. The violet Twi'lek adopted a comforting smile, trying to put them at ease.

"Will we ever see you again?" one of the children asked.

"I don't know," Arlia admitted.

"Promise you'll come see us someday."

"I can't-"

"You have to! Promise."

One by one, Arlia looked to the children. In each of their tearful eyes, she could see a small flicker of hope. A flicker she couldn't stand to extinguish.

"Alright. I promise," Arlia declared, a genuine smile upon her face. The children encircled the Twi'lek and wrapped their arms around her. "Whoa, hey, come on. I'm not going anywhere yet. I'll stay with you until the starport. That sound alright?"

The children supplied a steady stream of nods as they backed away, allowing Arlia to right herself. As she began to take a step, the inquisitor immediately paused before spinning on her heels back toward the bench.

"Oh, right. Can't forget this," Arlia declared as she reached down toward her footlocker. "Wouldn't want to-"

"Hey!"

The Sith heard a voice that belonged to none of them. It was faint, as if shouted from a great distance.

"Hey!"

Again it sounded from across the Promenade, holding with it a harshness and hostility.

"You all hear that?" Ryloh asked, panning his gaze about the surrounding plaza for its source. Together the Sith searched, before locating its source above them. Standing along one of the upper Promenade's overlooks, an angry spacer cast his harsh glare toward the group, focusing mainly on Arlia. Quickly the lone figure rushed across the overlook railing, heading toward the ramp that connected the two levels.

Kar'ai looked to Arlia, who currently stood rubbing her brow. "Friend of yours?"

"You might say that," Arlia muttered.

"But he probably won't," Ryloh added.

Now on the lower Promenade, the spacer rushed across the plaza toward the group, a visible limp in his gait. As the figure drew closer, the children gathered in a tight group hiding behind Arlia. Within seconds the spacer had closed the gap between himself and the Sith.

"Who the hell do you think you are, you crazy bi-"

Before the spacer could finish, the Rattataki delivered a swift hook of her fist across the man's face, sending him tumbling to the ground. Lying motionless on his side, the fallen figure released a low, hushed groan. Kar'ai turned around to see Arlia starting at her, eyebrow firmly raised.

"So. Who was that?" Kar'ai asked.

"Now you ask?" Ryloh exclaimed.

"Some guy," Arlia stated. "Had to borrow a taxi earlier, which may have led to me kicking him out of a moving speeder." Now it was the Rattataki's turn to raise an eyebrow. "What? It wasn't that high a drop."

The warrior offered only the halfhearted shrug of her shoulders, ready to make her way toward the starport. Before setting out, Arlia opened the lid of her footlocker, retrieving a couple credit chips and tossing them onto the slowly squirming body of the floored spacer. Without another word, she lifted the container and motioned for the kids to follow. Together, group made their way across the plaza to find a taxi.

"You never did say how many credits you were able to secure," Kar'ai spoke up.

"Oh, right," Arlia started to recall. "I wasn't exactly paying attention when he told me, but it looks to be somewhere between three and four hundred thousand."

The other two stopped dead in their tracks, Ryloh almost stumbling to the floor.

"What?" the two exclaimed in unison.

"What 'what'?" Arlia asked with the arch of her brow. "Those crystals were pretty valuable."

"Evidently," Kar'ai bluntly stated. "Is that thing filled with just credit chips?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Arlia declared, utterly nonchalant. "Do you two want your cut now, or once we're at the starport?"

"Starport! Starport!" the pair immediately answered. The violet Twi'lek offered a quick shrug and continued to walk, flanked by the group of children. Ryloh and Kar'ai shared a dumbfounded look before rushing to keep up with their fellow apprentice.

Together, the three Sith and the accompaniment of children made their way off the Promenade, eager to put the moon of lights and splendor behind them.


	98. 3-22 Homes

**Chapter Twenty Two: Homes**

Dromund Kaas orbital station. Parked in one of the smaller hangars was the Imperial shuttle belonging to Arlia and Isorr. Standing outside the vessel was the violet Twi'lek, watching the small service droids buzz around the shuttle, inspecting every facet of its chassis. An attendant approached the inquisitor, eyes affixed to the datapad he carried.

"I need your credentials before I can clear you for surface travel," the attendant declared, not removing his eyes from the datapad.

"Like I told you last time, I'm not heading planetside," Arlia bluntly stated. "Here for fuel and to stretch my legs."

The Human attendant raised his gaze up toward the Twi'lek, casting a befuddled look. "You know, this station isn't where Logistics ships usually make rest stops."

The Twi'lek continued to stare solely at her ship, her back to the attendant, offering not a single word. With a roll of his eyes, the attendant petulantly tapped his datapad a few more times before turning and heading toward the hangar exit. In time, the Twi'lek was left alone with the automated machines that serviced the shuttle, and soon that number dwindled until there was little motion in the hangar.

Things were stilled and silent, and Arlia was alone. But not for long. Passing her gaze around the hangar, the Twi'lek eventually settled her sights on a large pile of stacked crates near one of the chamber's walls.

"You done skulking around?" Arlia teasingly whispered. Emerging from behind the crates, a dark figure made his presence known. The hood of his cloak was raised and a black cloth was wrapped around his lower face, but the inquisitor immediately recognized her partner. Much of the warrior's black garb had been turned brown by the dirt and mud clinging to his extremities. "Take care of everything you wanted to?"

"Yes," Isorr bluntly declared before silently entering the shuttle.

"Alright," Arlia offered with a roll of her eyes, following her partner onto the vessel. The Twi'lek moved to the cockpit to see her companion and pilot droid already prepping the starship for takeoff. There was a haste in the Zabrak's movements, one atypical of the warrior outside of battle. Something about him was heightened, every piece of him moving in sync like an organic machine. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

"Yes," Isorr plainly declared, the shuttle's instruments and displays firing to life, chirping and flashing as the vessel readied itself to undock. Arlia waited patiently for a follow up, but none came. There was only silence as the ship lifted from the hangar floor and righted itself toward the vacuum of space.

"Well?" Arlia asked, increasingly annoyed.

"Contact the others, they're going to want to hear this."

* * *

_Earlier…_

"Are you sure you can handle this alone?" Arlia asked.

"Yes," Isorr declared, raising his hood and pulling a cloth mask over his lower face.

"Alright," Arlia offered with a roll of her eyes. The Twi'lek stepped out of the shuttle and onto the hangar floor. An attendant approached the inquisitor, eyes affixed to the datapad he carried.

"I need your credentials before I can clear you for surface travel," the attendant called out, not removing his eyes from the datapad.

While Arlia distracted the Human, Isorr slinked from the shuttle into the shadows of the hangar, stealthily making his way deeper into the station. The warrior's cloak was fastened tightly around his body, rather than allowed to flow freely as it usually had. Isorr had succeeded in masking his form. Whether he could successfully mask his presence was another matter.

The Zabrak moved forward, through the station, through the hangar doors and passageways, keeping to the shadows and out of sight. The entire ordeal was counter to everything the warrior stood for. He did not sneak. He did not hide. He did not conceal. He fought. Out in the open, for all to see, for all to witness his might and grandeur. But much of that was precipitated upon the lie that he was a true Sith. Knowing that such a designation was beyond the reach of his alien hands, he would not allow himself to be grounded by such restrictions. Why conform to the ideals of others, when those ideals would see him dead?

Isorr moved through the orbital station with little interference, the automated custodial and worker droids paying him little attention. As he entered the hub, there was little opportunity to sneak. Lights lined the ceiling, illuminating the entirety of the open, sparsely filled chambers that stood before him. Large screens hung from the dark metallic walls, detailing information for travelers. Schedules. Restrictions. Warnings.

In the chamber beyond rest a docking hangar, occupied by a single passenger shuttle to ferry individuals between Dromund Kaas and its orbital station. Armed guards stood watch at the hangar entrance, eyeing the area from beneath their black helmets. That shuttle was Isorr's only way planetside, and no amount of stealth would secure him a spot on it. The only way he could get by, was if he were a Sith. Luckily, all the years he was tricked into believing he was one left a lasting impression.

Stepping into the chamber beyond the passageways in which he crept, the warrior straightened his stance, basking in the open light from under his black wrappings. He began to walk, with utter purpose in each step, toward the shuttle that would take him planetside. His hardened boots clattered against the metallic flooring with each step, echoing throughout the chamber. The fists within his armored gauntlets clenched. His eyes sharpened, casting their harsh glare forward. He walked as if he belonged, as if stopping him would prove most unwise.

The cloaked warrior passed the armed sentinels without an errant glance, stepping into the station's primary hangar. At the opposite end of the chamber stood only a magnetic barrier, granting the Zabrak sight to the world beyond. Dromund Kaas floated amongst the starry void, its chaotic atmosphere distinguishable at this distance. But Isorr had no time to admire the view. He had business on that dark world.

He continued to walk toward the shuttle, as service droids completed their final checks and its pilot climbed aboard. A station worker standing next to the shuttle's hatch noticed the warrior's approach, bouncing his gaze between the dark figure and the datapad within his hands.

"Excuse me, my lord," the Human softly called out to the approaching warrior. "I need your name and purpose for the logbooks."

Isorr ignored the attendant, continuing his slow, determined walk. He stopped just short of the vessel's entrance ramp, to cast a brutal, enduring stare to the Imperial. The two's gazes met, and the Human immediate grew cold and uncomfortable. The warrior stood a head taller than he, but the difference between them felt astronomical. The stare continued, the Sith offering no words, only the burdening aura of a powerful figure with little patience. The Human's limbs trembled as his heart raced.

"I seem… to have been mistaken," the attendant struggled to articulate. "Apologies, my lord. You're cleared to travel."

The warrior broke his gaze and silently entered the shuttle. The passenger bay was not without occupants, various low-level workers and officers destined for planetside sitting in the tight quarters. Without a word, the warrior took his seat, the other passengers using their peripherals to examine the dark figure. As the shuttle's engine hummed and the vessel prepared for takeoff, those nearest Isorr stealthily inched away, putting an empty seat between themselves and the Sith. The warrior leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs, head kept low. With a deep breath, he prepared himself for what was to come.

The shuttle passed through the heavy and crackling atmosphere, on course for the starport outside Kaas City. Without error or delay, it touched down in an empty hangar and opened its hatch. Isorr raised himself from his seat and exited the vessel with a quickened haste. Each step the warrior took was with purpose and without hesitation. He moved and moved, through the hangar, through the starport, eyes affixed to the exit, paying no mind to the nearby denizens.

The Zabrak was forced to hide in plain sight. Moving forward, he slipped past any approaching attendants without contact, altering his course only to sidestep the occasional surveillance or scanner droid. A few minutes of travel, navigating the corridors and open areas, and Isorr found himself standing at the exit. The eternally dark skies of Dromund Kaas stretched above him in all directions. Dense forestry encroached upon the path ahead, only the high ridges and skyscrapers of Kaas City poking above the dark canopy.

The road ahead connected the starport to the planet's capital, and cut through the planet's ever dangerous flora and fauna. Imperial soldiers patrolled the way, and speeders stood by, ready to ferry citizens across the less than secure path. But Isorr had need of none of that.

Stepping away from the starport, Isorr removed himself from the established pathway, ducking onto the grass and dirt, away from the prying eyes of Imperials and Sith. The small vestige of civilization put behind him, the warrior shed any vestige of blending in amongst its peoples. His concern now rest with the planet's more natural populations. Isorr ran through the jungle terrain, gliding toward the destination firmly secured in his mind.

Despite the heft of his body and armor, he was light on his feet, sounding as a passing breeze rather than a tromping warrior. His youth had been spent locked away in an urban dwelling, but this planet was the Zabrak's home. He possessed a series of coordinates, and he knew exactly where they lead. And the multiple ways to get there.

And so he ran, and ran, for hours, and hours. Whilst his companion currently covered a distance measured in stars, he traveled through the muddy jungles of his homeworld, hiking across hills and ravines, traversing rivers and ridges with an indomitable gait. He persisted, as the world spun beneath his feet, without food or water or pause. The warrior had come a long way since his journey amongst the wastes of Korriban. He could go longer without rest, without sustenance. The Force was his sustenance.

Remaining off the beaten path, Isorr climbed trees and mountains, gauntlets digging and clawing as he raised himself higher and higher by any means necessary. An almost sheer cliff face resting between himself and his destination, the warrior did climb. He climb and climbed, ascending the moist, crumbling wall of dirt and stone. He'd burrow his digits into the cliff-face through raw strength alone, forcing himself higher toward the ridge's peak. His hold would prove more reliable than stone, as bits and pieces of the ridge would fall out from under him, destroying his progress as he slid back toward the mountain's base. But he would not be deterred, resuming his climb without an errant thought.

Finally, his gauntlets clenched around something soft, something green. The grass and roots that signaled the top of the cliff. The Zabrak hoisted himself up, slowly but surely, until he stood once more upon flattened terrain. Righting himself, the warrior stood atop a peak similar to the one he had stood atop countless times before. And like the Korriban peak, it offered Isorr an overlooking glimpse of a compound beset by high ridges and defensive emplacements.

An estate. Formerly belonging to one Lord Norrok. Now under the possession of one Darth Tash. A small assortment of buildings sat nestled amongst the grassy ridges, low stout structures sparsely guarded by Humans and droids. The compound possessed all the necessary amenities. Barracks. Communications tower. Lightning Spires to divert the ever present storms above. But the warrior was interested in the main house.

Moving forward, Isorr navigated a sloping path down the ridge, avoiding the majority of the security that guarded the open road on the opposite side of the compound. Under the shadow of Dromund Kaas' eternal dusk, the warrior slinked down toward the Imperial manor. Only now did Isorr halt his unending march. Carefully, he maneuvered amongst the various buildings that rest between himself and his target. Keeping to the shadows, the warrior peeked around corners, making sure the coast was clear, before proceeding through each procedural advancement.

Circling around the central manor, Isorr found an unguarded back entrance and slipped inside. Out of the dark, churning mess that was the Dromund Kaas exterior, the warrior stood amongst standardized Imperial architecture. Cold, rigid designs forged from dark metal, sparsely decorated aside from the occasional cloth banner hanging from the wall. The Zabrak paused, closing his eyes as he stood alone within the manor house. Opening his eyes, Isorr took the first in a series of cautious steps, guiding himself toward his destination. He knew nothing of the structure's floor plan or layout, but he knew exactly where he was going. The coordinates had served their purpose, but Isorr was not without further guidance. It was simply internal, rather than external.

The warrior proceeded deeper into the building, wet footsteps echoing throughout the vacant corridors, leaving muddy footprints in their wake. He paid no attention to such details, mind locked on the target, once more enrapt with the unwavering pursuit. He traversed winding hallways and empty corridors, no one interrupting his trek. As he slowly walked down one of the available pathways, he came to a stop halfway, an inkling in his mind telling him he had arrived. A single door stood on the wall beside him.

Passing his hand over the controls, the door quickly rescinding into its recess, granting Isorr access. Passing through the boundary, the warrior found himself in a meagerly sized room, a tiny foyer, featuring the greatest bit of decoration he had seen thus far. The walls left and right of the intruding warrior were lined with hanging trophies and items mounted on shelves. Various items of genuine and sentimental worth, but the central piece seemed to be a mannequin donning a suit of Sith armor. Black armorweave accentuated by protective plates, and a helmet featuring various slits through which a crown of small horns could protrude.

"I do not know how you got in here, but I know exactly how you're leaving," a low, coarse voice sounded off behind the intruding warrior. Isorr turned to see an elder Zabrak garbed in simple robes standing in the open doorway, pointing the crimson blade of a lightsaber his way. The intruder carefully lowered his hood and mask, and watched as the defender's stern, tattoo-laden face slowly turn to one of bewilderment. "Isorr?"

"Dad," the younger Zabrak bluntly replied. The room fell silent, only the soft hum of the still ignited, still raised, lightsaber permeating the chamber. Isorr and Ikton Odrek locked eyes with one another, each frozen in place.

"What are you doing here?" Ikton asked, almost unable to process the presence of his son.

"I came to see you," Isorr calmly stated, no apparent emotion in his words. The two continued to share an uneasy look, until finally the elder Zabrak slowly lowered his weapon. Disengaging the lightsaber, Ikton returned it to his hip and stepped fully inside the chamber, shutting the door behind him.

"Shouldn't you be at the Academy?" Ikton asked, a sliver of concern in his voice.

"I don't know. Should I?" Isorr replied, maintaining his stoicism.

"What do you mean? Did you become an apprentice? Is that why you're not there anymore?" Ikton attempted to piece together an explanation.

There was a beat as the younger Zabrak momentarily lowered his gaze. "I suppose you could say that," Isorr admitted.

"That's… that's wonderful news!" Ikton exclaimed, a genuine delight shining through his otherwise coarse voice. "Come. Come. I want to hear all about it!"

Ikton rushed passed his son, opening the door opposite the entrance, beyond which rest the elder Zabrak's home within the compound. Isorr watched with a dulled expression as his father moved about the dwelling, almost floating. The son exited the foyer into a quaint Imperial living room, his father bustling about the adjacent kitchenette.

"Please, have a seat." Ikton called out. Isorr passed his gaze around the sparsely filled living quarters, only a small table with two chairs standing near him. Hesitantly, the son took a seat at the small breakfast table as he continued to cast a sharpened gaze toward his father. Silence between the two Sith persisted amidst the occasional clattering sounding out from the kitchenette. When the father finally emerged, he came holding two cups of coffee.

"Tell me, what's the name of your new master?" Ikton asked as he handed his son one of the cups and sat in the chair opposite him. The son stared into the dark liquid, seeing a shimmering reflection of himself.

"Lord Syrosk," Isorr said, not looking up from his drink.

Ikton took a long sip of his drink. "Hmm. Haven't heard of him myself, but I'm sure he's a fine Sith." Isorr looked up from his drink with an arch of his brow, watching his father continue to sip from his cup. "This is such exciting news. My son, finally a Sith Apprentice. I'm only astounded I didn't hear about it sooner."

"What makes you say that?" Isorr softly asked.

"Well, my master keeps tabs on the Academy and has been giving me progress of your training," Ikton explained.

"Is that so?" Isorr muttered, taking his first sip of his coffee. "When was the last report you received?"

"Oh, only a few weeks ago," Ikton stated.

"And what did Tash have to say then?" Isorr bluntly asked.

"So you know of him?" Ikton replied with an amused candor.

"You could say that," Isorr softly answered.

"Well, he said your training was going smoothly, and that you showed immense promise," Ikton explained. "He said that the instructors sang your praises, that you were one of the finest warriors at the Academy."

"And you believed him?"

"Well, of course I did! After all, your my…" Ikton looked up from his coffee to see his son looking upon his with a stern gaze, a coldness unfazed by his projected warmth. Only now did the father notice the mud on his son's armored fingers. He fell silent, as all he could do what look across the table with a creeping bewilderment.

"What would you say, if I were to tell you that I haven't been a student of the Academy for almost two years now?" Isorr bluntly asked. "Better yet, what would you say if I was never actually enrolled in the Korriban Academy in the first place?"

"Why… why would you say something like that?" Ikton muttered.

"Have you spoken with Vai recently?" Isorr asked. "Because I have."

The father could only offer stunned silence. Slowly, the younger Zabrak raised the cup to his lips, taking a long, drawn-out sip.

"I daresay I know more about your master than you do, father."


	99. 3-23 Links

**Chapter Twenty Three: Links**

Isorr and Ikton Odrek continued to sit across from one another. The domicile's atmosphere had lost its warmth as the father and son looked to one another with creeping unease.

"What exactly happened… ten years ago?" Isorr asked.

"Don't you already know?" Ikton tersely replied, referencing his son's supposed understanding.

"This isn't about what I know… it's about what you think," Isorr answered, his eyes continuing to lock with his father's. "And I want specifics."

The elder Zabrak held a silent pause as he broke eye contact with his son, staring into the half-full cup of coffee. "I was security chief of this estate, back when it was owned by Lord Norrok. I'd oversee local surveillance, instruct new recruits, deal with security breaches. Menial duties. One day, my day off, I went to Kaas City. I was going to come visit you but… I stepped into the local cantina first. That's when I was approached by someone. Vai Thorel. He introduced me to his master, who offered me a place under him as an apprentice, and said he could get you into the Korriban Academy."

"And you believed the offer genuine?" Isorr begrudgingly asked, swirling the remains of his half-empty cup of coffee.

"Of course I did!" Ikton declared. "He wasn't asking for nothing in return. I was to deliver him this estate, turning over everything and everyone inside over to him. I knew there was a chance that afterwards, he'd have no further use of me, but I couldn't pass up an opportunity this good. I would finally be a Sith, not just a Force-sensitive lapdog. And you, my son, would have the opportunity never afforded to me. You would have been the first Odrek to be a Sith of distinction. To have trained in and graduated from the Empire's most prestigious Academy."

"So you let Vai take me away to receive the training you never did," Isorr stoically said. "What did you do while I was gone? Did Tash uphold his promise to make you an apprentice?"

"Yes. He did," Ikton admitted. "Vai and I trained together, working under our master's direction. Vai handled domestic affairs. I worked externally. I got to fight in the Battle of Alderaan! I got to fight alongside Darth Malgus! I mean, not directly, but I was part of the invasion. I never had that chance before joining Tash. If not for him, I'd be stuck here, doing menial duties, going unappreciated. I got the chance to be a warrior, a real Sith! He gave me opportunities I'd have never received otherwise."

"I can't say the same," Isorr muttered.

"What happened to you ten years ago?" Ikton turned the question back toward his son.

"I was in our apartment," Isorr bitterly recalled. "Nothing to do but wait, as always, when suddenly an intruder shows up. I tried to hide, as taught, by you, but he could sense me. Vai began to converse with me, appeal to that desire to be a Sith that you had implanted in me since I first learned Basic. Promised to take me to the Academy, the institution that you had made out to be the most wondrous of places. I start to think. What about you? Why aren't you here? But I knew what you'd say. So I went with him. We flew to Korriban. I was deposited alongside other Force-sensitive children. Some Humans. Some aliens. We were taken below the surface. Assigned to groups and classrooms. For years, we'd toil beneath the surface, only stepping outside amongst unoccupied, unwatched sectors. We were not true students. We were hidden, or at the very least, kept out of sight."

"But you were trained, were you not?" Ikton asked. "Received lessons? Faced trials?"

"Only in the barest sense," Isorr declared. "None of us truly faced danger. Debilitating injuries were few and far between. They weren't weeding out the strong from the weak. They were simply pushing us forward, toward some unseen goal. For eight years, I blindly followed the instructors, believing them to be the only hope I had to become a Sith. But one day, a Sith Lord showed up to the Academy. Took only four warriors from the scores that resided in the classrooms. He gave us a test. Had us choose a partner from the same halls in which we resided, but were training to become inquisitors. The idea was odd, perhaps unsettling, but it was the first tangible chance at becoming an apprentice, and I guess I couldn't pass it up no matter the surrounding circumstances."

As the son finished his last sentence, his stern gaze softened a bit as he continued to look into his father's eyes. In recounting his own tale, he realized how he himself had fallen for the same trappings. The promise of apprenticeship, where none existed prior, proved infinitely enticing to men such as them.

"This Sith Lord, this is the Syrosk you mentioned?" Ikton asked, breaking the silence.

"Correct. An alien, but a Sith Lord," Isorr explained. "This was two years ago, but it was months before we found out who he was or what his purpose was. Did you ever question the means of which Vai and his master were able to track you down? How they knew of my existence, and the fact that I was Force-sensitive?"

"I couldn't afford to dwell on it then," Ikton admitted. "I considered it little more than extreme luck at first. But in time, I came to understand how capable my master was at acquiring what he desired, chief of which being information. I've watched him trade favors, bartering for information before. After that, I believed nothing beyond his reach."

"That's understandable, for one individual I suppose," Isorr stated. "But Tash sought almost a hundred children across the galaxy. For that he needed someone with insight. For that, he needed my master. A Seer. Tash and Syrosk were partners. Your master used his connections to set up classrooms on Korriban, and my master used his visions to fill them. Shortly after the students were all gathered, the two came to blows and separated, Tash retaining total control of his students while Syrosk was left with nothing. For eight years Tash was free to do with us as he pleased with no interference whatsoever. Hell, aside from my master and his apprentices, Tash is still free to do whatever he wishes with those who remain in his domain. But we were pulled from the classrooms. And while we still weren't proper Sith, at least we were being trained like them. By someone who didn't care who we were or where we came from."

"Tash is not like other Sith," Ikton replied. "He doesn't care if you're an alien or not. I've been his apprentice for almost a decade!"

"Are you a Sith Lord?" Isorr asked.

"No…" Ikton softly answered.

"Darth Tash hasn't seen fit to bestow the title upon his loyal apprentice?"

"No. But Vai isn't a Lord either," Ikton explained. "And neither of us wish to be."

Isorr balked. "What?"

There was a pause, as the father took a sip from his coffee. "Before you left for the Academy, everything you knew of the Sith came from me, correct?" The son offered a nod. "And have your views of the Order changed since then?" Another nod. "Well, my views have changed as well. I taught you to believe in the sanctity of power, of self-interest, of standing amongst greatness. The importance and enduring nature of tradition…"

"You conveniently skipped over the fact that none of that applies if you're an alien," Isorr muttered.

"That's where you're wrong," Ikton countered. "Yes, we are at a disadvantage. Yes, we are looked down upon by those who do not recognize our skill. But that does not mean we are incapable of being Sith. That we are incapable of earning respect. I can count on my hand the number of Zabrak bloodlines that stand in high regard in the Empire, but they do exists. Our strength, our resilience, our tenacity. It does not go unnoticed. We've made homes for ourselves in Imperial space before the war even broke out. We are capable of earning a place alongside any Human or Pureblood, we simply require more time. It may take years, decades, generations, but it is possible. A family that serves the Empire for centuries is not ignored because of their blood, so long as that blood contains the power of the Force. My father was stepped on at every turn, but he fought, ensuring that his son would have a place amongst the Sith. A small place, but a place higher than his nonetheless. I did the same, making sure that you would have the opportunity to ascend higher than I. Tash expedited the process. He catapulted you ahead by what could have taken us generations to come. He gave you a place in the Academy."

"Except he didn't," Isorr replied. "His classrooms are a lie. The second I stepped foot outside of them, I was just another despised alien who didn't belong."

"But it's better than what you would have had!" Ikton emphatically declared. "Before he came along, I was the worthless servant of petulant Sith Lord. You would have grown up, inherited my meager assets, and maybe start two steps ahead of where I started. Then your child would start a little further than you, and their child a little further still. But in a hundred years, little would have changed. Do you think, maybe you were hidden for your own good? Maybe you were being protected?"

"At the cost of strength and skill?"

"Yes!" Ikton shouted. "Do you know what strength and skill amounts to when you have a collective after you? A group of people who want nothing more than to see you taken down? Dark Councilors are regularly killed and replaced. No amount of personal power can save you when everyone wants you dead."

"There's always someone who wants you dead."

"Does that mean you go around advertising your presence to them?" Ikton asked before releasing a low sigh. "Oh, of course you do, because that's 'the Sith thing to do'. You face challenges, get stronger, or die, right? Nothing else matters. Except it does. You want to know what the Sith Order's problem is? Single-mindedness. The inability to see or even think about something other than what's right in front of you. The inability to change, to adapt, to try anything different than what rests currently in your mind. You have to be the best. You be the best by taking the place of your betters, you take the place of your betters by being the best. I've fought in countless battles across countless worlds. I've fought Jedi and Sith. I won my master the Nebulae Campaign. I earned him the rank of Darth. Before, I would have been utterly dissatisfied. After all I've done, I should deserve more, right? I should try taking what I deserve, right? But I have everything I need. I have my son. Even though we had not spoken with or seen one another for almost a decade, I knew that everything I did was for you. Every bit of prestige, everything of worth I accrued, I knew it would be passed to you."

"But why?"

"Because what's the point of doing everything for yourself?" Ikton warmly declared. "If you have nothing to pass on, all of your accomplishments reset to null the second you die. That's the reason we have children. Hell, that's the reason Sith have apprentices, or rather, it should be. There are still facets of the Sith Order I have not turned my back on. A master takes an apprentice, trains them, provides them the means of surpassing them. That's something worth preserving, worth believing in."

"And you think Tash shares such a belief?" Isorr asked.

"I do," Ikton answered.

"And what about the classrooms?"

"I know nothing of them or their purpose," Ikton admitted. "And me being kept in the dark is likely because of your involvement with them. Were I informed of their existence and purpose, I'd likely trust my master's intent."

"And what of the fact that he's lied about my status for the past two years?" Isorr asked.

"Would you tell a father you've lost his son to someone you've fought with in the past? The man is still a Sith and acts accordingly. Has he moved against you or your master?"

"Not overtly," Isorr admitted. "And only against Syrosk. Throughout most of our training we've been isolated. But… we did receive a visit from Vai recently."

"You did say you had spoken with him" Ikton stated. "What did he have to say?"

"He… offered us a place under Tash," Isorr explained. "Said there were no hard feelings, that we could continue our training as his apprentices. We declined."

"I see," Ikton almost whispered. "I'm sure you all had your reasons."

"We did. And the decision was not made lightly," Isorr declared. "We mostly did it to stay together, considering we would likely come to blows when our masters' paths eventually passed. I was the only one with family only the other side, though."

"You must think highly of your fellow apprentices, not wanting to go against them," Ikton stated.

"I suppose," Isorr hesitantly admitted. "My partner is a capable ally, and I'd not see the others forced to die by my hand. More so than the father I'd not seen in ten years."

"Understandable," Ikton muttered with a soft nod. "What brought you here though, into the arms of your master's enemy?"

"Recent events have seen me and the other apprentices exiled from Korriban," Isorr stated. "While Syrosk was allowed to remain, we were forced offworld. We decided to put our training on hold to pursue more… personal ventures."

"And you decided to come see your father."

"Well, technically it was decided for me," Isorr commented.

The elder Zabrak puzzled as the younger one reached into the folds of his cloak, returning with a single sheet of flimsiplast. The son placed the sheet on the table and slid it over to the father, who looked upon it with curiosity. The edges were warped, and the spots where Isorr's muddy fingers made contact were torn and wilted, but its message was plainly visible. A series of coordinates, and the name Ikton Odrek.

"Who gave you this?" Ikton wondered.

"We don't know for sure," Isorr stated. "We think it could have been Vai. One of the other apprentices thinks he has a warm relationship with him despite their masters' tensions. Thinks he was giving us a gift after being exiled. Vai told me about you when he was trying to convince me to join Tash. There's a chance this is an extension of that. If I met you, maybe I'd change my mind about staying with Syrosk or something."

"And have you?" Ikton asked.

"Maybe. Not really. I mean, if I was asked to fight you, I'd most likely decline," Isorr admitted.

"Yeah. Same here," Ikton replied. There was a pause as the two Sith looked to their drinks, the murky liquid growing increasingly cold.

"I suppose we really are similar," Isorr said, emotion all but abandoned. "Zabrak who blindly rushed to join our masters. Who have had ideals beaten into and out of them. Who are surrounded by people trying to guide them toward what they seem to think is best for them."

"Like father like son," Ikton replied.

"So… were you successful?" Isorr asked.

"In what way?"

"In giving me a head start? Do you still think I'm better off than you were?"

"At your age? Definitely," Ikton answered. "If I were as strong as you are back then, you'd have been abandoned in a much nicer apartment."

The two Zabrak's lips began to display small curls, almost resembling smiles.

"You gonna tell Tash about any of this?" Isorr asked.

"Nah. After all, he kept me in the dark about you. Might as well do the same to him," Ikton explained. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Same thing I've been doing I suppose," Isorr declared. Reaching across the table, the younger Zabrak retrieved the sheet of flimsiplast, holding it in his hands for a moment before returning it to the folds of his cloak. "You know, our talks with Vai were pretty enlightening. Perhaps you should have a chat with him as well."

"At the very least, thank him for letting me see my son," Ikton stated. "Assuming it was him who sent you here, of course."

"Who else would be able to tell me I'd find you here?" the son asked.

"I suppose only Tash and Vai would know when and where I would be," Ikton replied. "Although someone could have just given you the location of my home and hoped for the best."

"How often are you here anyway? I thought you were this battle-hardened warrior, out fighting wars, conquering planets for your master."

"True, I'm often called elsewhere, but my time here has been spent resting," Ikton admitted.

"Tire yourself out easily old man?" Isorr teased his father.

"No," Ikton countered. "Tash needs me rested and ready for the next battle."

"And which battle might that be?" Isorr asked.

"Don't know," Ikton admitted. "Details have been sparse. Tash has been talking with the Ministry heads. Something big is coming."

"Is that so?" Isorr offered before taking a final sip of his coffee.

"I can guarantee it has nothing to do with you or your master," Ikton bluntly stated.

"Yeah, but my master has a knack for making things about him."

* * *

Passing through the polluted skies of the mining world, a motley assemblage of shuttles and transport ships raised and lowered themselves amongst the clearings between Yerrig's palace and the dig sites. Former slaves and slavers alike stood in loose formations, each ready to depart the dreary world. Standing over the scene, Lorrik and Jresh watched as the individuals piled onto the vessels of smugglers and escorts, ready to ferry them to their world of choice for a price. A price each of them were now suitably capable of paying.

Holding the datapad he had received months and months ago in his hand, Lorrik received a communication from his comrades.

"Message from Arlia," Lorrik spoke to his partner. "Says she's earned us some credits."

"That's good news I suppose," Jresh declared, casting a careful gaze over the moving figures in the distance.

"Yeah, she also says Isorr wants to talk. To all of us. Well, all of us except Syrosk it seems," Lorrik explained. "He wants all the apprentices to meet up. Should we invite them here?"

"It's as good a place as any," Jresh stated. "We should be the only ones here by the time they arrive."

"Alright, I'll send the word," Lorrik declared, tapping away at the electronic screen.

The Pureblood watched as the figures ahead boarded the various shuttles, slaves and their oppressors moving in tandem. "The transition is proceeding remarkably smoothly."

"The right mixture of incentives I suppose," Lorrik stated. "A new life, credits for their troubles, and the fear of the two Sith standing on a nearby hill. Are they all happy? No. Have they all forgotten what happened days prior? No. But they've weighed their options, and this is best one for all of them. Will some fall right back into the old ways the second they step off those ships? Most likely. But there's only so much we can do. Or rather, only so much we should do."

"I'm sure when other Sith struggle with self-restraint, it isn't concerning matters like this."

Lorrik offered a quick chuckle. "I suppose not." Tapping away at his datapad, the inquisitor received a couple of notices on the screen. "Arlia and Kar'ai say they're on their way. Their partners too."

"What of Nesk and Vurt?" Jresh asked.

"No response."

"You think they're in trouble?"

"Oh, I've no doubt," Lorrik warmly replied.

* * *

Beneath the foggy skies and dense canopy of a jungle world, a lone Imperial shuttle sat motionless on the forest floor. Dense shrubbery encroached upon the solitary metallic object, a single column of light shining down on it from the vertical hole made by its descent. Within the cockpit, a single piloting droid sat idling. Within the passenger bay, the meager belongings of two Sith sat strewn about the flooring, two datapads amongst them. On each of the electronic screens, a red notice blinked and flashed, going unattended.

The shuttle was quiet, and its owners were out.


	100. 3-24 Scores

**Chapter Twenty Four: Scores**

It was early morning, as various sounds of nature chirped throughout the lush environment of a forest world. Trees stood tall and were in abundance, but not so much as to cast the lands below in darkness. The rising sun cast its soft rays on upon the uncivilized moon, leaving an orange glow upon the dewy surface. A gentle breeze passed over the unsullied environment, branches and shrubs rustling as the local fauna awoke from their slumber.

Resting amidst the serene locale was a small lake, its waters calm and home to a number of creatures. Small lizards and rodents scuttled around the waters' edge, but took care not to pass its shimmering threshold. Each would take its drink before slinking back into the surrounding brush. Tall, thin trees sprouted from beneath the lake's surface, each home to a mess of tangled roots that provided shelter to the smaller creatures from whatever dangers may lurk. But as trees planted themselves and thrived within the water, the lake's center went uninterrupted by flora, only a smooth, unbroken surface that reflected the rays cast from the rising sun.

The area was quiet. Peaceful. The only sounds stemming from the quaint chattering of the local wildlife and the whistling of the passing breeze. But the serenity was not unassailable. In the distance, a hum rang out, increasing with volume as its source approached the quiet lake. The noise carried with it a mechanical oscillation, the kind associated with repulsorcraft.

As the hum grew louder, it was accompanied by the snapping of twigs and rustling of shrubberies. The various elements of undergrowth were being brushed aside as some foreign element pushed its way through the previously unsullied locale. Small animals near the lake began to scamper away, fearing the source of the noise. Passing through the final layer of trees, the source of the hum had arrived at the lake. It belonged to an engine, an engine attached to a light platform, upon which sat little more than a light metallic frame. A frame that rose to the midsection of the repulsorcraft's sole pilot.

The figure stood tall, covered head to toe in light-gray fur. A Wookiee, garbed in little more than a leather harness across his chest. One hand on the mobile platform's controls, the other was affixed tightly around the stock of his bowcaster. The bandoliers that hung from his broad shoulders were predominantly empty, as were the blade sheaths upon his back. He had everything he needed right in his hands.

The platform calmed its approached, hovering a short distance above the water's surface near the lake's edge. The hum of the craft's engine dulled until it was almost completely absent. Silence began to return to the scene, buts its denizens did not. The small fauna that fled knew better than to make their presence known. But the Wookiee had little need for them anyway. His sights were set on what sat beneath the lake's depths.

The Wookiee urged his repulsorcraft forward, inching closer to the lake's center. His sharpened eyes began scanning the surface of the calm waters, hand gripping tighter around the stock of his weapon. Nearing the middle of the lake, the hunter halted his approach, coasting to a quiet stop. Soft ripples emanated from beneath the hovering platform, expanding outward before calmly fading.

Removing his hand from the craft's control panel, the Wookiee raised his bowcaster, placing the stock against his shoulder as he gripped it firmly with both hands. Peering over the frame of the platform, the hunter intently scanned the surface of the waters ahead. His breathing slowed as he concentrated, every movement made with utmost precision. Finally, something emerged from the depths of the lake. A small, fleshy object broke the surface of the water, topped with black eyes that seemed to stare off into the distance.

The Wookiee remained silent. Motionless. His eyes affixed to the emerged object, the hunter maintained an unwavering calm and focus. As the blob of flesh and eyes disappeared beneath the surface, the Wookiee remained rigid in his stance. There was a rumbling beneath the lake, and soon the waters began to swell. In an instant, a giant beast propelled itself upward, kicking up a column of water as it breached the surface. The amphibious creature launched itself meters above the stationary Wookiee, a portion of its body still beneath the lake's surface. Widening its vast, toothy maw, the object from before revealed itself to be merely the creature tongue. As he stood beneath the shadow of the cascading beast, the hunter did not falter.

With a single pull of the trigger, the Wookiee released a metallic quarrel from his bowcaster. The charged bolt surged forward, ripping into the creature's flesh and sending it reeling back from its intended prey. The creature fell back with a resounding splash, sending ripples and waves crashing toward the lake's edges. As his prey floated motionless on the water's surface, the Wookiee reached beneath the platform's controls, and returned with a metallic cord attached to a winch. Making a loop, the hunter gave himself some slack before expertly lassoing the loop around the beast's neck. Pulling the cord taught, the Wookiee returned to the control panel, and began to move the repulsorcraft, slowly dragging the felled beast along the lake's surface.

At the water's edge, the hunter continued to pull the beast out of its former home, slowly revealing its stocky yet serpentine body as he dragged it onto the bank. Hopping down from his craft, the beast's size became even more impressive when measured against the towering Wookiee. From end to end, the aquatic creatures stood over five meters long. One third was comprised of its head and elongated neck. Another was comprised of its stocky torso, from which sprouted stout, webbed limbs. The last third, was a long, thin tail. Taking a folding knife from his harness, the Wookiee went to work cutting and severing the slick appendage.

Coiling the collected tail, the hunter secured it to his craft, before detaching the winch from the rest of the creature. Climbing aboard the platform, the Wookiee quickly raised himself and began vacating the area, leaving the tail-less body of the creature he had slain. Returning along the path he had traveled, the hunter sped forward through the forested terrain, eyes set on returning home.

After minutes of traveling, the Wookiee's eyes set upon a quaint cabin nestled amongst the peaceful forest. In a clearing a short distance away, a large black freighter sat, its top covered with natural and artificial camouflage. The Wookiee brought his repulsorcraft to a stop near the cabin's rear, amongst a yard populated with the tools and designs of a hunter. Touching down, the Wookiee picked up his bowcaster, and slung his acquired prize over his shoulder. Dragging the lengthy tail, the hunter eventually draped it over a rack near the cabin's rear door.

Wiping his brow, the silver-haired Wookiee entered the home he had crafted for himself. The sturdy cabin was constructed out of local wood, cut and shaped to mimic Kashyyyk aesthetics. Stepping inside, the hunter hung his bowcaster on a pair of wooden pegs on the wall. Moving throughout his wooden home, the Wookiee passed his kitchen and made his way toward the living area. Standing at the threshold of his destination, the hunter froze as he saw someone awaiting him.

In one of his hand-carved chairs, a single Trandoshan sat patiently, his cold, sharpened gaze immediately affixed to the Wookiee the moment he stepped into sight. The two figures' eyes connected, and the atmosphere grew immediately heavy, even though neither of them had acted. The Wookiee did not understand. A tracker as good as he would have noticed if someone had broken into his home. He could not explain the intruder in his home, as the two continued to offer one another only enduring, bitterly cold stares.

If it was a test of who would be the first to act, the Wookiee had every intention of being the victor. With blinding speed, the furred figure ducked out of sight, rushing back toward the cabin's rear. As he stepped into the kitchen to retrieve his bowcaster, the Wookiee was shocked to see another intruder standing in his way. A Nikto had planted himself between the hunter and his weapon, standing firm, arms crossed, offering only silence and the same bitterly cold stare as the Trandoshan. Once more the Wookiee was frozen in place, wondering if his centuries had finally caught up with him. But there was something about these men. Something unlike anything he was encountered before.

Suddenly, the black-clad Nikto moved. It was subtle, and he remained exactly where he stood, be the intruder offered the quick motion of his head, urging the Wookiee back toward the living area. There was something oppressive, something unforgiving about remaining under the Nikto's gaze. Reluctantly, the Wookiee complied, taking a careful step back toward the room in which the Trandoshan sat. Then another. Then another. Eventually, the Wookiee returned to find the other intruder right where he left him, casually sitting in one of the wooden chairs, casting his sharpened eyes toward him.

The sandy-scaled Trandoshan was garbed in black armorweave protecting his torso and legs, hands and feet going uncovered. From his neck hung a necklace of collected teeth and talons. The Wookiee had no memory of the Trandoshan, but knew well enough why he had come. He had killed and enslaved enough of his peoples that there were undoubtedly countless of them seeking revenge. But before the Wookiee could dwell on the matter, the scaled intruder finally broke his stilled stance. With a quick motion of his head much like his companion's, he directed the Wookiee's attention to a nearby wall.

Two weapons hung from the wall on display. Two swords. Ryyk Kerarthorr blades. Hand-forged weapons possessing long, sickle-like edges, mounted on perpendicular handles. The Wookiee looked to them for a moment, before returning his attention to the intruder. The Trandoshan offered only a quick nod.

Carefully, the Wookiee edged closer and closer to the hanging weapons, never taking his eyes fully off the sitting Trandoshan. Resting a hand on one of the blades, the Wookiee looked for one final clarification, but received only the intruder's enduring glare. Removing the swords from the wall, the Wookiee wrapped his hands tightly around their handles. The Trandoshan began to rise from his seat, prompting the Wookiee to firmly plant his feet. He watched with confusion as the scaled intruder made his way toward the cabin's entrance. Turning his back on him, the Wookiee saw two blackened blades strapped to the lizard's back.

The Wookiee turned to see the Nikto now standing in the threshold between the living area and the kitchen, leaving him only one way to go. He thought of brandishing his blades, slicing through the Nikto and escaping out the back. But something urged him toward the Trandoshan. The hunter couldn't explain it. Was it fear.? Was it honor? Was it fate?

The Wookiee emerge from his home to see the Trandoshan had not yet ceased his movements. He continued to walk, further and further from the home, making his way toward the clearing that housed the hunter's ship. The Wookiee followed in silence, steeling himself and focusing his mind. The Trandoshan led the Wookiee away from his home, past the clearing to a spot unburdened by the surrounding forest. On a nearby hill, there was only grass, nothing to obscure or obstruct. Only the gentle greenery nipping at the Trandoshan's heels amidst the calm breeze.

The Wookiee looked back to see the Nikto leaning against the exterior wall of his cabin, keeping his distance from himself and the Trandoshan. Ahead, the lizard stood patiently in the center of the hill. The Wookiee calmly approached, keeping his head held high, his hands firmly secured around his swords' handles. Finally did the Trandoshan unsheathe the blades across his back. He held in his hands two matte black dueling swords, straight-edged and immaculately sharp. As he awaited the Wookiee, he refused to take his sharpened eyes off of his opponent.

The Wookiee finally came to a stop a few meters across from the Trandoshan. They both stood in silence, only the occasional sound of nature sounding out. As the Wookiee looked to his opponent, he expect some words. Some measure of explanation. Some exposition of intent. At the very least, he expected a sweltering of fiery emotion. But he received none of it. The Trandoshan was unique amongst his species. The Wookiee had never seen a being who carried so much hate in his eyes, but made so little noise. As the two warriors stared each other down, as the two hunters secured their grip on their blades, they both realized that this was a matter beyond words.

Nesk. Direclaw. It would be the end of one of them. Widening his stance, the Trandoshan raised his swords, ready to begin. The Wookiee did the same, preparing himself for the battle ahead. There was no signal to begin. No formal declaration that the fight was on. It was merely a test of who would be the first to act. The Trandoshan had every intention of being the victor.

Upon the hill, Nesk was the initiator, charging forward, kicking up dirt and grass as his feet dug into the ground beneath him. Direclaw steadied himself, ready to block the attack. But as he prepared to absorb the blow, he caught a glimpse of his opponent's eyes. In that instant, he realized there would be no stopping him. Dodging out of the way, the Wookiee leapt to the side as the Trandoshan released a heavy swing of his blades. The attack almost seemed to cut the air itself, surpassing the wind in sound and intensity. Even as he recovered meters away, the Wookiee felt a wave of pressure wash over him.

Direclaw watched as in the distance, undergrowth parallel with the Trandoshan's strike violently shook, as if affected by the attack. The Wookiee's eyes widened at the spectacle, almost unable to process the immense power his opponent wielded. But he would not be allowed to marvel for long, as the Trandoshan was once again on the offense. Nesk barreled toward his foe with the same vigor, same fire behind his eyes. Bringing his swords down once more, the Trandoshan this time managed to connect metal against metal. The Wookiee's legs almost buckled under the pressure of the blow, Nesk's blades pressed against his. Before he could react further, Direclaw found the Trandoshan's naked foot delivered straight into his gut.

The Wookiee was sent tumbling back by impact of the blow and the accompanying shockwave. Direclaw rolled on the grass, almost releasing his grip on his weapons. When he finally righted himself, he saw his opponent standing motionless across from him. As the Trandoshan cast his harsh gaze, the Wookiee could almost feel his will being drained. He felt weak. He felt powerless. He felt defeated. But as the Trandoshan raised his blades once more, he knew he could not resign himself to death.

Direclaw straightened his stance and raised his blades. There was a calm as the two warrior stared one another down, each ready to conclude their battle. Finally, the two immense figures began to run toward one another, hands gripping ever tighter. They ran, growing closer and closer, until finally, contact. The two hunters simultaneously swung their swords with all their might, before continuing past one another for a couple of steps. The two men came to a stop as they both remained upright, standing back to back.

The air was calm. The hill was quiet. The fight was over. Nesk looked to see his blades coated with a layer of blood, a moment later hearing the sound of a Wookiee crumbling to the ground. Turning around, the Trandoshan was greeted with the sight of Direclaw lying face-down in the grass, motionless, small rivulets of red staining the surrounding green.

With a deep breath, Nesk wiped his blades against his thigh, before returning them to their sheaths. He turned to see Vurt slowly approaching, looking toward him with his usual cold stoicism. The two Sith shared a brief look before deciding their business done.

The two walked away from the hill, leaving behind Direclaw and all he had created, as they ventured back toward their ship. Trekking across the forested world, the pair moved in silence as they returned to their vessel parked over an hour's walk away. When the two finally returned to their ship, they entered to find a series of notices flashing on their datapads. Looking over the electronic tablets, the two Sith studied the communications, identical in their composition. After reading over the messages, the pair offered one another a quick, affirming nod, before entering the shuttle's cockpit.

Soon, the Imperial vessel lifted itself from the ground, and began its slow, careful ascent upward, back through the natural canopy they had breached before. As they departed the uncivilized moon, a lone figure looked up at the roaring shuttle, hiding in the brush below. A small, furry humanoid, garbed in rough leathers, hands clutched around a primitive spear.

The tribal denizen stared in wonder as it watched the metal box fly across the sky before finally disappearing into the heavens.


	101. 3-25 Unions

**Chapter Twenty Five: Unions**

Four Imperial shuttles sat parked outside Yerrig's palace. The outside world of the mining planet had gone silent, completely stilled. The smugglers and transports had come and gone, ferrying their passengers to their new lives. The armed escorts who opted to oversee the transition were paid their dues and sent on their way. The lands were desolate, as they always had been, but now, there was no one to look upon them. The yellow hills and smoggy air were there to stay, but they would no longer feel the intruding touch of sentients.

The world's sole occupants were holed up in the estate of the deceased slave master. The apprentices had been gathered, each suitably satisfied with the paths they had walked days prior. Hours spent traveling through hyperspace. Hours spent walking amongst terrestrial lands. Hours spent seeking their desired targets. Each of them carried inside them a strange, contradictory swell of emotion. They were fulfilled, and yet they were not. They were satisfied, and yet they were not. They were pleased, and yet they were not. For how could they be, so long as the burden of uncertainty weighed heavy upon each and every one of them.

The Sith had grouped themselves together in the home of Lorrik's parents, cramping themselves within the living area upon limited seating arrangements. If there was ever a way to make a Sith look less intimidating, it was to have them sit on a miniature stool. The eight apprentices gathered around the living room table, couches and chairs situated in a rough circle, to discuss recent events.

"So let me get this straight," Arlia began, scrunched against her companion with whom she shared a sofa with. "You managed to bring down the entire mining operation on this planet by yourself?"

"Well, if by 'by yourself' you mean me and Jresh, then yeah," Lorrik plainly replied from across the table, sitting next to his partner on a slightly larger couch. "Take out the leader, everything under him starts to collapse."

"None of his workers put up a fight?" Arlia asked.

"This was a job for them," Lorrik stated. "I made sure they got paid, and they were happy to find another job amongst the countless other opportunities for security work."

"How did you keep the slaves from lashing out?" Arlia continued.

"Just had to lay on a bit of the Sith charm," Lorrik explained.

"Right," Arlia dismissively offered. "You just can't go a day without helping someone out can you."

"Funny you should say that, 'Miss Arlia'," Kar'ai teased. The Rattataki and her partner shared a cushioned armchair, each sitting on one of the armrests, leaning their shoulders against one another's. "She spent her free time rescuing a bunch of children."

"Is that so?" Lorrik playfully commented, resting his chin on his joined hands.

"If you must know, I was there to kill my former owner," Arlia emphatically declared. "I just happened to free a few children by happenstance."

"What? You never told us you were a former slave," Lorrik blurted out.

Ryloh perked up. "I know! I said the same thing,."

The purple Twi'lek offered her firmly arched brow toward both of them as she maintained a silent pause. "It was an operation run by a woman. Didn't know her name. Everyone just called her 'The Matron'."

"Funnily enough, my former slave master's name was Yerrig," Lorrik stated. "But after digging through his records, I found out that he changed his name to that, because his previous one didn't sound like the last name of a 'reputable businessman'."

"Well, I suppose reputation needs to be maintained, good or bad," Arlia commented.

"I guess we're not so different after all," Lorrik jokingly declared. "So, anyone else topple any slaving operations in their spare time?"

A few of the Sith shared a brief laugh that was cut short at the sight of the Trandoshan slightly lifting his hand. The other apprentices offered their own befuddled looks at the silent warrior, hoping for the explanation they knew would never come.

"It's a shame Kar'ai and Ryloh didn't bring one down. That would have made us four for four," Lorrik joked.

"We thought about it," Ryloh muttered, almost ashamed of himself now. "We just didn't think it was the right choice at the time."

"He's got a sister on Ryloth," Kar'ai answered for her partner. "We decided to hold off on picking her up until we get our current affairs in order."

"What about you?" Lorrik asked. "What directions were you given?"

"Extended family on Rattatak," Kar'ai answered. "Don't really care about 'em. In fact, I think the man who killed my father was a second-cousin or something, so familial ties aren't too sacred to us."

"I think you've been silent long enough," Arlia declared, jabbing her elbow into her companion's side.

All this time, the Zabrak hadn't uttered a word. The warrior had leaned forward, elbows planted onto his thighs, mouth covered by his interlocked hands as his gaze seemed to stare off into the distance. Much of the dried mud had been scrapped off the warrior's digits, but a layer of dust and dirt still stained much of his outfit.

"You want to tell us what was so important that we all had to be here?" Arlia asked.

"I went… to Dromund Kaas," Isorr softly began, lowering his hands, but maintaining his stance.

"No way. They let you onto the Imperial Capital?" Lorrik asked, suitably impressed.

"Dropped him off at the orbital station," Arlia answered for him. "He managed to sneak onto and off world."

"Why were you on Kaas?" Lorrik asked.

Isorr let a pause hang heavy in the air. "To see my father."

"I see," Lorrik replied. "Was this a pleasant visit, or…"

"When I first received the note, I didn't know what type of visit it was going to be," Isorr declared. "He allowed Vai to take me to the Academy, even though he had to have known that aliens would never be permitted to become true Sith. I thought there was a chance he knew about Tash's plans, but sent me anyway. That there was a chance he simply cast me aside under the pretense of sending me to become a Sith."

"What did you find out?" Lorrik wondered.

"He was ignorant. Tricked, the same as the rest of us," Isorr answered. "He thought Tash was offering his son a chance he'd never received. That my enrollment in the Academy would be genuine. When I met him, he wondered why I was there instead of the classrooms."

"That's good to hear, I suppose," Lorrik replied.

"Yeah. It was a relief, but rather confusing, considering he's Tash's apprentice," Isorr stoically explained. The other Sith looked to the Zabrak with a mixture of disbelief and befuddlement, unsure if they had even heard him right.

"Did you say Tash's apprentice?" Lorrik asked for clarification. The horned warrior nodded.

"I thought Vai was his apprentice," Kar'ai declared.

"It's not like you can only have one," Arlia said. "Hell, Syrosk has eight."

"How many does Tash have?" Ryloh asked.

"Just the two," Isorr calmly answered.

"Says who?" Arlia challenged. "'Cause if it's your father, he's not exactly the most knowledgeable person, what with him being apprenticed to your master's sworn enemy."

"Wait, you said he wondered why you weren't in the classrooms?" Lorrik asked.

"Yeah," Isorr briskly replied. "He didn't even recognize Syrosk's name when I said it. It seems his master hasn't been too forthcoming with him about his past or his future plans."

"So he didn't know about your apprenticeship? The past two years?" Arlia asked.

"He didn't. He does now," Isorr answered.

"Was telling him the best idea?" Arlia continued. "I mean, if he still serves Tash, he could tell his master about you, about us, about what we've been doing."

"I didn't tell him anything about you all," Isorr explained. "And even if I did, his loyalties are to himself and his son."

"That's great news isn't it?" Ryloh added. "I mean, doesn't that mean we can bring him over to our side?"

"He still respects his master," Isorr declared. "He was the only Sith willing to give him a chance."

"He gave Syrosk a chance, and look how that turned out," Arlia stated.

"That's what has me curious," Isorr replied. "My father has served Tash for years and thrived. Vai has served him longer, and he seems to be Lorrik's new best friend. You think maybe we're going after the wrong Sith? Maybe it's Syrosk who's in the wrong?"

"I've no doubt in my mind that Syrosk has made many mistakes in his life," Lorrik admitted. "But that doesn't mean Tash is any better."

"Maybe not. But if they are equal, maybe choosing the side that has some measure of standing is the correct choice," Isorr stated.

"So Tash has done some good for some people, what about the scores of students still in his classrooms?" Lorrik asked.

"We still don't know their purpose," Isorr countered. "After what Syrosk has been through, after what you've been through, it seems as though keeping them hidden and off the radar is the best choice if they want to be kept alive."

"What happened to you, Isorr?" Arlia interrupted. "You use to be all, 'strength is the only measure of a person's worth'. I mean, you pretty much out-Sithed the Pureblood over there."

"That all changed the day I realized my lineage meant I was superficially inferior to other Sith," Isorr declared. "The day our skill was worthless if not backed by blood. The day we got exiled because one of us had the gall to defend himself."

"So that's it, after all we've been through you're just giving up?" Arlia chided.

"I am not giving up, nor will I ever give up," Isorr adamantly replied. "I simply recognize the futility of thinking we can change things ourselves. The Empire has been set in its ways for centuries, do you people honestly think with just the eight of us, that we can overcome one of the Sith's most deeply imbedded traditions?"

The room fell silent. The eight apprentices couldn't look one another in the eye, their gazes steadily trailing toward the floor. The living area possessed a melancholy calm, and a stillness that persisted until a new figure entered from the kitchen. The elder Velash, Lorrik's father, entered holding within his hand a tray, upon which sat eight small cups.

"Here's some coffee for you and your friends, Lorrik," Garen warmly stated, carefully navigating the maze of seats and setting the tray upon the central table.

"Thanks, dad," Lorrik said as he lifted his gaze, smile forming on his lips. The Human inquisitor was the first to take a cup as the father retreated, leaving the Sith to their business. The son took a long sip of the warm beverage, before looking to his comrades. "To answer your question… yes. I believe we can."

Jresh was the next to pick up a cup, with the other apprentices following him soon after. The others weren't sure what to think. After all they had accomplished, it had all been attained in a very tight, very restricted environment. Opening themselves to the Empire at-large brought about an entirely new series of troubles and problems they had no control over. And through it all they stuck by one another. Loyal to each other above all else. Above masters, above country, above family. But they knew it would take more than trust amongst a few fellows to succeed in the future. What exactly they needed, none of them could quite say. Strength could be overcome. Knowledge could be outmatched. Each and every one of them was able and willing to fight, but they knew not whom they were fighting against.

"Hmm," Isorr sounded out as he took a sip of his drink. "So this is what good coffee tastes like."

* * *

Hours passed. Day turned to night. As much as the apprentices had to discuss, there was little more for them to speak about. The sizable palace had a number of guest rooms for the apprentices to retire for the night, none of them willing to stay in the main room owned by the former slave master. As the pairs readied themselves for the day's end, one apprentice was not with his partner. Walking the empty halls of the palace alone was Jresh, making his way toward the estate's entrance at a calm, yet focused pace.

Stepping past the confines of the palace interior, the Pureblood stood under the diminished moonlight that passed through the hazy atmosphere. But as he stepped outside, he also ceased to be alone, as Lorrik's father leaned patiently against the wall adjacent the palace entrance. Garen Velash relaxed against the hard surface, taking the occasional sip of his drink as he stared toward the sky.

"Mr. Velash," Jresh softly spoke up, announcing his presence. The father glanced over with a smile on his face, a soft glint in his uncovered eye.

"Jresh. What bring you out here?" Garen warmly asked.

"I wanted to talk, about Lorrik, if you don't mind," Jresh stated.

"Of course I don't mind. Go right ahead," Garen declared, shifting his weight against the wall so as to better face the adjacent Sith.

"I'm sure you're aware that Force-sensitivity is considered hereditary."

"I'm aware," Garen replied.

"Then it stands to reason one or both of Lorrik's parents would be Force-sensitive, but as far as I can tell, neither of you are," Jresh admitted. "Is there a chance it skipped a generation, or that one of you has latent sensitivity?"

"I suppose there's always a chance," Garen plainly answered. "Though the easier explanation would be that he isn't our biological child."

The Pureblood looked to the father with a puzzled look in his eyes. "Lorrik isn't your son?"

"Of course he's my son," Garen replied. "Family isn't defined by blood. Meylin and I have raised him ever since he was a baby."

"Did you know his biological parents?" Jresh asked.

"Just the mother," Garen stated.

"Was she a slave?"

"No. Then again, back then neither were we," Garen explained.

"What were you?"

"I suppose the most apt description would be… anarchists," Garen admitted. The Pureblood stood in silence as the Human took another drink. "Ideological criminals, if you want to get technical. Just a group of people doing what we had to in order to get by. It was me, Meylin, Lorrik's mother, and a few others."

"How did you come to take care of Lorrik?"

"His mother passed shortly after he was born," Garen softly stated. "Meylin and I volunteered to raise him as our own. Changed all our last names to Velash. It was a plain, common enough family name. We wanted something 'ordinary' as we began our new life."

"How did you become slaves?" Jresh asked.

"Our line of work didn't make us a lot of friends, and had a way of following us after we left it behind," Garen explained. "Eventually, we crossed the wrong people. Found ourselves in debt. Debt became indentured servitude. That eventually led to full blown slavery. We thought to resist, for Lorrik's sake, but realized that would just put him in more danger. So we kept him close, protected his as well as we could. When the Sith came to take him to the Academy, we knew exactly the kind of people they were. The kind of people we fought against before becoming slaves. But we tried to justify it, again for Lorrik's sake. Told ourselves the Sith weren't any worse than the Jedi or the Republic, or the people who ruled our lives then. Justified the tragedies by saying, 'well, at least they're upfront about it'. All lies we told ourselves, of course. But, there weren't many options for a better life then, so we tried so hard to convince ourselves that this one was genuine. Every day after I sent him away, I wondered if I had done the right thing for my son. Now, seeing him return. Seeing how happy he is. How happy you've made him. I know I made the right call."

Jresh watched the father take another sip of his coffee as he returned his gaze up toward the night sky. The Pureblood joined him in gazing upon the filtered light of the moon and stars. The two shared a moment of silence as they become lost in the oddly comforting sight.

"As oddly selfish as this is to say, thank you," Jresh said, not taking his eyes of the hazy night sky. "If you hadn't made that decision, if you hadn't allowed Lorrik to be taken to the Academy, I don't know what our lives would be like. For me, and the other Sith. Your son's suffered great pains, but he's endured, and along the way has helped us in ways beyond recognition."

"No need to thank me," Garen warmly declared. "And if you haven't noticed, the galaxy's a selfish place. If you don't take a little piece for yourself now and again, someone else is going to end up taking a little piece of you."

"I see you're not without wisdom."

"That come as a surprise to you, what with me being 'non-Force-sensitive'," Garen jokingly teased.

"Not at all. My father was blind to the Force, and I hold a great deal of respect for him. Now more than ever," Jresh stated. There was a pause as the Pureblood lowered his gaze, about to reenter the adopted home.

"Hey," Garen called out, slowly removing himself from the palace wall. "I don't know what it is exactly that you all are planning to do. But you keep Lorrik safe, alright?"

"I can do that," Jresh adamantly declared before stepping into the palace, leaving the father alone underneath the darkened skies. The Human slightly bobbed his head, a smile forming on his lips as he took one final sip of his coffee.

The Pureblood returned to the guest room he and Lorrik had decided to move into. The chamber didn't possess the grandeur and opulence of the palace that surrounded it, but it far surpassed the suite they had grown accustomed to. White walls with golden trim stretched above its occupants' heads to a decorated ceiling. A large bed topped with luxurious fabrics sat in the middle of the chamber, with doors leading to closets and bathrooms sitting on either side of it.

Jresh entered to see his partner sitting at a desk near the entrance, chin resting on his palms as he leaned his elbows against the hard surface. The warrior approached his partner, looking over the inquisitor's shoulder to see an arrangement of items lined up in front of him. A holocron. A mask. An amulet. A severed claw. Four items of power the apprentice had procured through force or gift.

"I feel like I'm not doing enough," Lorrik softly admitted, sensing his companion's presence. "The other apprentices. They're relying on me for answers. For guidance."

"They rely on you, because they trust your judgment," Jresh stated. "They don't expect you to have all the answers or to blindly rush into a situation without them. And neither do I. We don't need to make a decision today. We don't need to make a decision this week. Take your time. The answers will come. They always do."

"But what if this time, they don't?" Lorrik asked. "Or if they do come, what if I end up being wrong?"

"You wouldn't be the first. We all make mistakes. What matters isn't that we make them, but how we respond to them."

"But what if these mistakes end up getting people killed?" Lorrik asked. "What if I'm responsible for the death of the other apprentices? Or Isorr's father? Or the students of the Academy?"

"The fact that you are willing and want to help makes you a better person than practically any other Sith," Jresh declared, placing a hand on his partner's shoulder.

"My intentions are worthless if I still end up ruining other peoples' lives," Lorrik replied, keeping his head hung low.

"The chance that things might go wrong has never stopped you before."

"And look where that's gotten us. Exiled. Caught between two Sith Lords. And you with only one good leg-"

The once comforting hand on Lorrik's shoulder clenched, grabbing hold of the inquisitor's robes. In one swift move, the warrior pulled the Human up from his chair, forcing him to his feet.

"I do not care about the leg," Jresh emphatically stated, turning his partner to face him. "Being a Sith means inviting pain into one's life. I've made peace with that long ago. Was it a mistake? Yes. Could it have been prevented? Perhaps. Should you keep beating yourself up for it? Absolutely not. You think all the good you've done is negated by the hardships we've faced, almost none of which you're directly responsible for? If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't have survived in the Korriban wastes. We might have never learned about our place in the Academy. The others wouldn't have gotten the chance at closure regarding their pasts. And most important of all, I never would have met the love of my life. You chastise Syrosk for fearing the futures he has seen, and yet you fear those that you cannot. You're crippled by uncertainty, when you shouldn't be. We've survived the worst that could be thrown at us. We've endured. We've pressed on. Each defeat was followed by victory. Each injury was followed by recovery. There is nothing we can attribute to you that has made us weaker. We've only grown stronger from your guidance. You think the other apprentices care that they might get hurt? That they might die? That's been true for them every single day for the past two years, maybe longer. You've proven yourself a capable individual. Someone who is strong. Someone who is smart. Someone who believes in something other than himself. But now, more than ever, you need to believe in yourself. For your own sake as well as ours."

"You're right," Lorrik softly muttered, wrapping his arms around his companion's waist. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," Jresh warmly offered, reciprocating the hug. "It's not about being wrong. It's about making things right. Something we all think you're capable of."

The two continued the warm embrace in silence, Lorrik's head resting gently against his partner's chest. "'Love of your life', huh?"

"You know it," Jresh whispered, planting a soft kiss on the Human's forehead.

The inquisitor looked up, a smirk creeping across his lips. The warrior offered the curious arch of his brow, only to be interrupted by the Human jumping up and wrapping his legs around the Pureblood's waist. Jresh felt his partner's hands caressing the sides of his face as Lorrik pulled himself closer. The two Sith's lips touched, and they shared a long, impassioned kiss. Upholding his partner's weight with the greatest of ease, Jresh carefully walked over to the bed as Lorrik tightened his grip around his companion. Falling onto the sheets, the pair felt the weight of the world wash away as all other matters slipped from their minds.

In that moment, they had only each other, and that was all they needed.


	102. 4-01 Plans

**Part IV: Endings**

**Chapter One: Plans**

Within the Kaas City Citadel, the machinations of Imperials and their Sith masters were in full swing. On levels high and low, countless chambers were filled with individuals possessing some measure of power on Dromund Kaas. Military strategists. Sith Warmasters. The men and women ultimately responsible for the taking of any world the Empire set its coveting sights upon.

Nestled in deep amongst his fellows and contemporaries was the home and office of Darth Tash. The elder Sith Lord currently resided within his communications room, standing across the grainy holo-image of some dark figure. Tash was adorned in only the barest layers of his usual armor, forgoing the usual cape and armored plates that accentuated his public attire. The aged Human possessed a beaming smile as he offered the respectful bow of his head.

"Thank you, my lord. I shall not disappoint you," Tash stated in his most diplomatic tone. Without another word, the image faded as the communication shut off, leaving the Sith alone with his thoughts. His happy, excited thoughts. But whilst his thoughts persisted, his solitude did not, as the man's first apprentice stepped through the room's entrance.

"So. We get the word yet?" Thorel asked through jumbled words. The master turned to see his apprentice standing in the doorway, holding a small bowl in one hand, spoon in the other. The student had a mouth full of cereal, which he continued to chew as he leaned against the doorframe beside him.

"Yes, my apprentice. We have official sanction from Angral to take part in the invasion," Tash pleasantly stated. The subtle wrinkles on the elder Human's still handsome face were accentuated by the wide grin he wore. Though passing seventy years, the Darth possessed only superficial signs of aging, his grayed hairs belying the still sharp mind and powerful physique he maintained.

"Hrm," Thorel vocalized as he finished his chewing. "Does he know what you plan on doing?"

"It's precisely why he's allowing me to do it," Tash explained. "I promised him a portion of the spoils."

"Does he know who's going to be earning those spoils?" Thorel asked. "He and his ilk aren't too keen on the kinds of students you've let into the Academy."

"Sith like Angral care about results, plain and simple," Tash declared. "And I'm sure the results will be to his satisfaction."

"We can only hope," Thorel half-heartedly offered.

"This is what we've been preparing for," Tash stated. "After all these years, I can finally stop living in my master's shadow. We'll finally have true standing alongside Sith like Thanaton and Baras."

"Speaking of which, are we sure Baras' info checks out?" Thorel wondered.

"The man is nothing if not a capable source of intelligence," Tash admitted. "It's a shame he's not taking part in the invasion. If he died in battle, I'd no longer have to repay him. But alas, we play the hand we're dealt."

"So when do we move?" Thorel asked.

"When the time is right," Tash answered. "Until then, we need make sure everything is in order."

"Will you, or I, be addressing the acolytes on Korriban?"

"I'll be busy finalizing details with those in charge of the invasion," Tash admitted. "I'll be sending you to the Academy to tell everyone their duties."

"The students don't know me, and it'll take more than an apprentice to mobilize them," Thorel commented.

"I suppose," Tash said with a soft sigh. "The real mobilization won't occur until they've been brought to Dromund Kaas. Just pass on the information to the instructors and staff for now. Begin making whatever preparations need to be made."

"Alright," Thorel replied. "I'll make sure everything else is in order. What of Syrosk? He's still of Korriban."

"What of him? He's in no position to interfere."

"I'd say the Academy is the exact position for someone to be in should they want to interfere," Thorel teasingly countered. The master released another sigh as he gently rubbed his brow.

"You're right, we can't assume being left with nothing means he won't act," Tash admitted. "If anything, such desperate conditions might cause him to lash out. Keep an eye on him, if you can."

"Of course, master," Thorel offered with a dip of his head.

"Have you heard word from his apprentices?" Tash asked.

"I extended the offer to join us. They didn't accept, but they didn't outright reject it either."

"And where are they now?"

"Not sure," Thorel stated. "They split up after being exiled from Korriban. As far as I know, they haven't made contact with their master since their departure."

"I see. It's shame," Tash muttered. "There being eight of them, it would have almost been too perfect had they joined us. I might have had to start believing in fate."

The elder Human released a heavy chuckle at his own words, whilst Thorel continued to consume his breakfast. Just as he was about to raise another spoonful to his mouth, the apprentice saw an indicator light up on the room's holoterminal.

"Incoming message," Thorel calmly stated, before taking the bite. The master offered the quick arch of his brow before turning back toward the communications terminal. Engaging the device, the flickering image of a Zabrak came to life.

"Ah, Ikton. Excellent timing," Tash called out.

"I assume that means you have an update?" Ikton stoically asked.

"Correct," Tash declared. "We've received authorization. You've the privilege of participating in one of the most important battles in history. Our names will be known by Sith for generations to come."

"You intend to involve the acolytes in this, correct? Those you brought to the Academy?" Ikton bluntly asked.

"Indeed," Tash plainly answered.

"So, my son, he is to take part in the battle as well?"

"The classrooms will be assigned their targets, which means that, yes, your son will participate in the assault," Tash admitted. "But if he manages to survive, he will be hailed as a hero."

"And if he doesn't survive?" Ikton coldly offered.

Tash looked to the holo-image with a calm pause. "You know that a Sith's safety is never guaranteed. But your son is a capable warrior. I'm sure he will do just fine." The master tried to impart upon his distant apprentice a sliver of his own comfort, as a smile returned to the aged Human's face. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've a meeting to attend. You will remain here on Kaas until we are ready to mobilize. Vai will answer any questions you have."

With no more words to offer, Darth Tash calmly removed himself from the chamber, leaving the communications line open. The Zabrak watched with sharpened eyes as his master faded from view. Now, only the two apprentices remained. Slowly, the younger Human sauntered up to the holoterminal and watched his fellow apprentice alter the focus of his gaze. The Zabrak stared at the Human with an enduring stoicism as the seconds passed by in silence.

"So. Ikton. How's things?" Thorel warmly asked, mouth half-full of cereal. The other apprentice remained silent, only offering a cold stare at the Human. "I can tell you right now, Tash doesn't record these things, if that's what you're wondering."

"I received… a visitor recently," Ikton spoke up.

"That sounds nice," Thorel playfully replied.

"Do you enjoy playing coy?"

"Who's playing?" Thorel timidly offered.

The Zabrak's stoicism began to falter as his face slowly contorted into a snarl. "Why didn't you tell me about my son? That he was no longer a student at the Academy?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I did," Thorel softly declared.

"So it's true. You did send him," Ikton muttered.

"I didn't exactly send him. I just told him where to find you," Thorel admitted.

"I'd offer my thanks, if I hadn't also found out that you've been deceiving me for the past decade."

"Technically, his status only changed in the past two years," Thorel explained

"And what of the acolytes?" Ikton asked. "Those belonging to classrooms not officially recognized by the Academy?"

"The classrooms that provided them shelter? Provided them a chance they'd never have received otherwise?" Thorel countered.

"That 'chance' is nothing more than a lie and you know it," Ikton declared.

"Is it?" Thorel replied. "Those students are closer to being true Sith than most would think possible of them. They've received a chance practically none would offer them. They're about to take part in the war's single most important battle. This will finally be their chance to prove themselves. If we're successful, they won't be seen as mongrels and outcasts. Tash will finally possess the standing to make you a Sith Lord without repercussion. You can take your son on as an apprentice afterwards if you want to. But only if we're successful."

"And what's to stop me from contacting my son before then?" Ikton wondered.

"Nothing. Go ahead. If you can convince him to help, then more power to you," Thorel reasoned. "But remember, this is war. Some live. Some die. That's just how things are. He's safe at the moment. Don't rush to drag him into things if you're afraid to lose him."

"I lost him over ten years ago," Ikton declared. "What I'm afraid of is never getting him back."

"You should learn to let go," Thorel advised. "He can survive on his own."

"Easy for you to say. You can walk the streets of Kaas City without fearing reproach."

"No Sith is above reproach," Thorel stated.

"No. But some are allowed to stand taller than others," Ikton countered. "And that's something you and Tash have never had to deal with."

The exchange ended with Ikton cutting off communications. The electronic image of the Zabrak flickered before fading entirely, leaving the Human apprentice alone. The Human continued to stare toward the deactivated holoterminal, his brow slightly furrowed. With a heavy sigh, the apprentice ate another spoonful of cereal as he turned toward the room's exit.

* * *

On the vacated mining world of Ortess-3, the sun peeked up from beyond the horizon, shining the first rays of morning on the estate of the departed slave master. Within, the eight Sith apprentices stirred from their slumber, ready for whatever the day would bring.

Within one of the palace's many guest rooms, Lorrik awoke to the gentle warmth of his partner's chest pressed against his back, the Pureblood's muscular arm draped over his own. Carefully, the Human lifted his companion's arm and slinked out from beneath it, setting it back down as softly as he could. Garbed only in his briefs, the pale inquisitor stealthily made his way into the adjacent bathroom.

The small chamber stood in stark contrast to the one he had used back at the Academy. While both could be said to exude a sense of luxury, they did so in opposite manners. Whereas the other was dark and rigid, appealing to Imperial senses, the palace's bathrooms were bright and flowing, elegant accents marking and shaping the furnishings and fixtures.

Lorrik proceeded with his morning duties, eventually stepping into the shower. Basking in the warm cascade of water, the Human found himself indulging in the simple pleasures and comforts he had forgotten since being exiled from the Academy. Though he was sure the shower's source was some tainted pool beneath the polluted soil, whatever filters the palace's former owner installed were working their magic.

As the spray impacted against and flowed down his body, the inquisitor held up his right hand. Beneath its remarkably paled flesh, he saw what looked like black veins spreading and forking from his fingertips to his wrist, concentrating in a dark splotch on his palm. Even though it was numb, he retained full control, full articulation. And as the spray of water bounced off his right hand, he realized he hadn't even lost total feeling. He could sense each drop grace the pale and marred flesh in a sensation unlike any other. Neither pleasure, nor pain, nor any neutral signal. A cognitive awareness that he did not fully understand.

Emerging from the shower, the inquisitor dried himself with a towel retrieved from the fully stocked cabinet that stood nearby. Running his hands through his dark hairs, the Human slicked his hair back, the lengthy fibers stopping just short of gracing his neck and shoulders. Examining himself in the mirror, Lorrik found an odd satisfaction in looking upon his own visage. He seemed at ease. There were no bags under his eyes. Nothing to signify the stress he had endured the past week. He was cleansed, in more ways than one.

Lorrik emerged from the bathroom to see his companion righting himself, legs bent over the side of the bed. The Human offered a warm smile, and the Pureblood reciprocated. Maneuvering over to the luggage they had brought with them, the inquisitor began digging through to find that day's outfit. He settled on the usual garb, black form-fitting robes with blue trim, and a glove to cover his scarred hand. As soon as he had secured the hoodless overshirt to his waist with a belt, the inquisitor was fully dressed.

Turning back, the Human saw his partner enter the bathroom. Leaving Jresh to himself for the moment, Lorrik spent the next few minutes at is desk, surveying his belongings. Sensing his partner wrapping up, he made his way toward the room's entrance, stepping outside a short moment later. The inquisitor released a startled hop when he saw Kar'ai leaning against the wall outside the room, casting a warm, knowing grin toward the Human.

"Mornin'," Kar'ai playfully offered.

"Good morning," Lorrik casually replied. "Up early, I see."

"Well, not all of us stayed up all night to, well, you know…" Kar'ai teased alongside a joking shrug.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lorrik dismissed, playing coy.

"Surprised it took you this long," Kar'ai admitted. "Ryloh and I were taking bets on when you two were finally going to go at it."

The Human let out a soft chuckle. "Is that so? Any other bets I should know about? Like with the other pairs?"

"Oh, of course not," Kar'ai replied. "Isorr and Arlia are too selfish and narcissistic to be in a serious relationship, lest one of them be forced to give something up. As for Nesk and Vurt… well, now that I think about it, I can't really think of a reason it'd be impossible."

"Is this how you two spend your time," Lorrik warmly offered. "Sith matchmaking?"

"It's not like we're actively involving ourselves," Kar'ai stated. "We just to like to keep our eyes on any interesting developments. Or ears, as the case may be. Enhanced senses go great with thin walls."

"Alright, alright," Lorrik said with gentle wave of his hand, attempting to calm the Rattataki. "I preferred when I didn't know my friends were listening in on me and my partner."

"Oh come on, like you couldn't hear us back at the Academy," Kar'ai playfully stated.

"What do you mean?"

"You know. Me and Ryloh. You mean you couldn't hear us though the walls?" Kar'ai genuinely asked.

"Well… we were across the hall from you," Lorrik stated. "I mean there were times, but I thought you two were just training and…" The inquisitor began to rub his eyes at the realization. "You weren't training were you?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd say that," Kar'ai commented, softly biting her lip.

"Okay, I've heard enough," Lorrik said, throwing his hands into the air. Before either could continue, they were interrupted by the Jresh stepping out of the guest room, garbed for the day ahead.

"Hey Jresh. Tired?" Kar'ai asked with a sharp grin.

"No. Why?" Jresh stoically answered.

"Oh, no reason," Kar'ai replied, playing coy.

"Come on, let's go meet with the others," Lorrik advised, trying to push the two warriors forward. The trio began their walk down the palace halls. They eventually entered the grand foyer in which the other five apprentices stood. The various Sith either stood of their own volition or leaned against one of the many decorative columns that lined the area. Reunited, the eight Sith looked to one another, each casting their silent but welcoming gazes.

"Hey everyone," Lorrik spoke up, breaking the silence.

"Have we decided what we're doing yet?" Isorr bluntly asked.

"What do you mean?" Lorrik replied.

"I mean, what are we doing? How do we move forward? What are our plans?" Isorr continued.

"There's not much we can do," Lorrik admitted. "We don't have a lot to go on. I mean, we know your dad is Tash's apprentice. We know something big is going down, sometime somewhere. Other than that, what else is there to go on? Any plan we enacted now would just be us stumbling around in the dark."

"So we do nothing?" Isorr asked.

"No. We can still prepare," Lorrik declared. "We haven't done much the past few days. We can't afford to just sit around all day waiting for new information. For now, we train. We fight. We duel. We hone our skills for the day we are called upon to act, or the day we decide to act ourselves."

"Who exactly are we expecting to hear from?" Arlia inquired.

"We had Syrosk stay on Korriban for a reason," Lorrik stated. "Any movements, any developments with the other acolytes, he'll know. He'll tell us."

"And we're going to accept whatever it is he tells us?" Arlia continued.

"We're going to take it under advisement," Lorrik answered. "We don't start anything. We don't finish anything. We don't interfere unless we know the absolute truth."

"And before that, what? We just beat on each other until we get tired?" Arlia snidely offered.

"It's worked for us for the past two years," Lorrik countered with a light chuckle.

"He's right," Isorr stated, before jutting a finger at the Pureblood. "Jresh. We never finished our duel before our exile."

"If you're so eager to lose," Jresh stoically replied. The two warrior stepped away from the group to find an open space amongst the foyer.

"Are we going to be fighting outside, or…" Ryloh muttered.

"Oh no, you don't want to spend any more time out there than you have to," Lorrik replied. "You can fight indoors. It's not like anyone lives here anymore."

"What about your parents?" Ryloh asked.

"You're right. No one bust through my parent's walls!" Lorrik declared, before shouting toward the departing pair of warriors. "Did you two hear that?"

They offered an affirming wave, not halting their progress.

"What about you, Lorrik? Have you recovered from your injuries yet?" Ryloh asked, a genuine concern in his tone.

"I'd say my insides are back in their right places," Lorrik confidently offered. The blue Twi'lek offered a nod before shooting a look to his companion. The Rattataki supplied a nod of her own, and the pair made their way away from the group. Nesk and Vurt followed, making their way down the foyer.

"Guess that just leave us," Arlia muttered, neither pleasure nor disdain present in her voice.

"I guess so," Lorrik warmly replied.

"Oh well. Let's just go at it, I suppose," Arlia offered, her choice of words sending a slight shiver up the Human's spine.


	103. 4-02 Providers

**Chapter Two: Providers**

The halls were quiet. Too quiet. Lorrik slowly walked across the foyer, taking careful note of his surroundings. Panning his gaze, turning on his heels, the Human made every effort to search every facet of his environment. With each careful step, the inquisitor slowly inched himself closer to one of the stone columns that lined the foyer. Lorrik placed his back against the pillar and raised his guard, fists held close to his chest.

A sharp ping shot through his mind as he sensed danger fast approaching. Ducking away, Lorrik barely missed the foot of Arlia slamming into his nose. Instead, the blow crashed into the stone column to seemingly no ill effect for the other inquisitor. The pillar, however, possessed a new crack upon its surface. Rescinding her leg, Arlia continued her pursuit of her target as Lorrik remained on the defensive. The Human carefully backed up as the Twi'lek advanced, lashing out with the quick jabs of her hands.

The inquisitors engaged one another in a hand-to-hand display of martial technique, Arlia possessing the advantage. She moved with a warrior's grace, each movement flowing into the next, no energy or momentum wasted. A swipe of her hand would be followed by another, then a sweep of her leg, all the while Lorrik attempted to maintain his defenses alongside his balance.

Arlia eventually landed a clean blow to the Human's gut, shaking him to his core. Lorrik replied with a flailing right hook, only for the other inquisitor to snatch him by the wrist. Twisting his arm, the Twi'lek wrung the Human's arm behind his back. Rather than try and regain control of the limb, Lorrik shoved his entire body backward, eventually sandwiching the Twi'lek between himself and a nearby column. The two impacted with a sizable thud, as well as an audible crack.

"Did you hear that?" Arlia asked, displaying neither signs of injury nor exhausted despite the prolonged match. The two separated, putting the duel on pause.

"No, why?" Lorrik plainly replied, turning to see his opponent staring at his right hand with wide eyes. Raising his arm, he could see his right hand had been bent forward, palm almost touching his own forearm. With his left, he did nothing more than straighten out his other hand and began rotating it at the wrist. One by one, he was capable of retracting and stretching out his fingers to no ill effect.

"Anything broken?" Arlia asked, more curious than concerned.

"Don't think so," Lorrik answered, gently shaking his right hand.

"Then what was that crack?"

"I didn't hear one. Maybe it was the pillar,"

"Whatever. You ready to continue?"

"Of course, let's just-" Lorrik started to speak before pausing.

The two inquisitors looked to one another for but a moment before each taking a simultaneous step away from each other. Not a second later, Jresh flew between them, sliding across the slick floor upon his back. They watched the warrior skid to a stop as he released a low grumble.

"Having trouble, Jresh?" Arlia teased as the Pureblood picked himself up off the floor.

"No," Jresh quickly replied, before sprinting back in the direction he slid in from. The inquisitors shared another look as they heard a resounding crash sound out from the other end of the foyer.

"How long you think before one of them gives up?" Lorrik asked.

"I think the building will give up before either of them do," Arlia offered with a low gentle sigh.

The two inquisitors resumed their bout as they and the other apprentices went about their own training and fights. The Sith would clash with one another, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours. Sometimes with fists, sometimes with sabers. Whatever injuries were accrued would be mended with the estate's full stock of first aid supplies, as well as Lorrik offering of a healing hand.

This was how things would continue for the next few days. The apprentices would wake up and train, pausing only for a meal now and again. Each and every one of them possessed a level of skill and displayed a measure of power other Sith had not thought possible of those from lower birth. Others believed the polluted blood of aliens and impurities was incapable of properly harnessing the power of the Force. These eight proved them wrong.

For four days they toiled amidst one another's desire to better themselves. They faced challenges born from their own minds, rather than their master's. Challenges carried out in singles, doubles, and all-out brawls between the eight apprentices. They covered every base they could, thought of every danger they might encounter, because as much as they knew, they did not know what lied ahead. They had to be ready for anything. And for all their confidence, all their skill, they still didn't know if they were. But they would not be deterred by that fact.

On the fifth day, the apprentices awoke to something strange. On each of their datapads, the eight students had received a message from their master. Gathering together in the palace foyer, the Sith met to discuss the new development. The apprentices gathered in a motley circle befitting their differing personages, each looking to another with a sense of hesitance.

"We all got a message, right?" Kar'ai asked.

"It's time we talked," Lorrik quoted the message word for word. The supplied nods from the others revealed that they had received the same. "No source, but I'd say it's obvious who it's from."

"Has anyone sent a reply yet?" Ryloh asked. The other Sith shook their heads. "Alright then. Should we?"

"Wait, a minute," Arlia interrupted. "We're hearing this from Syrosk? Not from one of Tash's apprentices? You know, one who Lorrik thinks is an ally, another who is Isorr's father."

"It's not like Vai would have a way of contacting us," Lorrik explained. "So far, we've only interacted through speech and physical notes. I'm not sure about Isorr's dad. Does he have a way to contact you?"

"I left him the means to get in touch with me," Isorr declared.

"And has he?" Arlia asked.

The Zabrak shook his head. "No. There's a chance he doesn't know what's going on. More likely, though, he knows exactly what's going on and just doesn't want me involved. When we spoke, he mentioned that he and Tash were preparing for some major battle. He also said it didn't involve Syrosk."

"No, I doubt it would," Lorrik stated, scratching his chin. "Our master would be the last person Tash would include if the classrooms were involved."

"You think he's taking them into battle?" Kar'ai asked.

"He's been preparing them for something," Lorrik stated. "I think we're about to finally find out what."

"My father and Tash have been fighting in the war for years now," Isorr explained. "I can't think of a reason he'd need a few scores of acolytes now."

"What manner of task could Tash and his apprentices not accomplish themselves?" Jresh followed up.

"I don't know," Lorrik admitted. "If all he needed was manpower, there are far simpler ways for a Sith of his standing to attain it. There's a reason he spent over ten years cultivating those acolytes. And it is not just so that they could take part in some battle."

"Whether we know the reason or not, that's not going to stop Tash from doing what he's planning on doing," Jresh declared.

"You're right," Lorrik stated, his eyes drifting to the floor. "Right now, Syrosk's our only source of information. He wants to talk, we should talk."

"He wants to do more than talk," Arlia replied. "He wants to stop whatever Tash is trying to do, regardless of whether or not he understands it. If he wants to act irrationally, we can't get caught up in it."

"He acts irrationally whenever he feels he has nothing left to lose," Lorrik declared. "When his master died, when he felt betrayed by Tash, when he lost everything he had sought to build. The best thing we can do is hear him out, lest he think we've abandoned him."

"We haven't abandoned him… right?" Ryloh asked.

"No," Lorrik replied. "He is still our master, and still deserves our support. Whatever mistakes he's made, whatever paths he could have taken to avoid all of this… the man is still responsible for our freedom. Relatively speaking. If not for him, we'd be on Korriban right now preparing for whatever it is Tash has in mind. And the more we can learn about whatever that is, the better." The other apprentices looked to one another, before standing in unanimous agreement. "Alright. I'll send the reply."

* * *

Korriban. As the harsh sun peaked over the jagged mountains and crags that surrounded the Academy, Lord Syrosk gazed upon the grounds beneath the overlooking peak where he had oft trained his students. There were movements abound on the planet's surface, even in the early hours of morning. Its denizens were preparing for something. And whilst the institution's proper acolytes maneuvered, the Sith Lord sensed they were not alone in doing so.

An atypically large amount of supplies were being delivered to Korriban, and while much of it was divided and distributed amongst the Imperials on the surface, a number of crates were being surreptitiously delivered to the forgotten halls where Tash's classrooms resided. Watching the scattering of forces and trainees on the grounds below, Lord Syrosk sharpened his gaze before making his way back to the Academy.

Traversing the dusty pathway down the mountain and up the Academy's front entrance, the Sith Lord could feel the pressing eyes and pointed thoughts of those who surrounded him. Ever since his apprentices had left Korriban, Syrosk had not shed his battle attire, not even in his private quarters. The battle-scarred suit of black armor beset by a heavy cloak provided a frightful countenance, but he knew it might not be enough to dissuade any would-be attackers. And on Korriban, there was no shortage of Sith willing and able to challenge him. It was the Sith Lord's unfaltering focus that protected him, as he remained in no one spot long enough to attract the worst kind of attention.

Passing the threshold between the proper Academy and Tash's halls, Syrosk could see a number of crates being carted in, opened and sorted by the realm's quartermaster and weapons master. They retrieved dozens and dozens of simple, standard-issue lightsabers meant for foot soldiers. The gray hilts were stacked side by side, counted, and stored behind the quartermaster's counter.

Though he watched from afar, the Sith Lord could feel a familiar presence creeping closer in his mind. Turning his horned head, Syrosk saw Vai Thorel standing beside him, arms crossed, wearing a warm visage.

"Tash must be ready to accelerate the acolytes' training," Syrosk muttered. "Unless of course, the lightsabers aren't meant for training."

"They aren't," Thorel plainly admitted. "But then again, you probably knew that."

"You're not the only ones gearing up," Syrosk stated. "Every Sith and Imperial on this planet is preparing for something."

"Not just here, Dromund Kaas too," Thorel explained. "You'd know that if you got out every once in a while. Don't you ever get tired of Korriban?"

"I was already tired of this place when me and Tash were taking it back from the Republic," Syrosk admitted.

"Yeesh. I forget how old you two are sometimes," Thorel joked. The Sith Lord offered only a low grumbled. "It's a shame things had to turn out the way they did. Honest. You were a good teacher. And if you hadn't gone all daft in the head and ruined a good thing, you could have been a part of this."

"I've seen enough of what goes on here to not want any part of it," Syrosk declared.

"Now, now, I think your actions over the past two years point toward the contrary," Thorel offered.

"I wanted nothing to do with Tash's sullied classrooms," Syrosk curtly replied.

"And here I thought people wantonly using words like 'sullied' and 'impure' was the entire reason you and Tash brought these students here," Thorel countered. "Didn't you want for these students to prove themselves despite the Empire's reservations? Well, now they can. They're going to take part in the defining moment of the war. They're finally going to get the chance to prove their worth to the Sith who think they don't deserve to be included in the Order."

"I'm sure that's what Tash would like you to believe," Syrosk stated. "They're just tools to him. Just like everyone else. Once they've fulfilled their purpose, he'll abandon them or cast them aside like he did me."

"You were 'abandoned' because you had a bad dream and let it dominate your life," Thorel rebuked. "He continued the work you wanted to do, training these acolytes despite everyone telling him not to. He gave them a chance. Gave them shelter. Protected them from those who would do them harm. What of the students you took for yourself? Let's do a quick headcount. Who's had more students almost killed and exiled from the Academy?"

The Sith Lord cast a harsh glare toward the Human. "My apprentices are stronger than any the classrooms have produced."

"Oh, great, I'm sure that will come in handy when absolutely no one recognizes that strength," Thorel declared. "Wake up, Syrosk. You're a good teacher, but what can you provide them beyond training? Everything you've given them had been a result of the crumbling goodwill you possessed with the Academy leadership because of your master. Once that's gone, then what? You can provide them nothing. Do you even know where they are right now?"

"In light of their exile, they decided to walk their own paths. It was their wish to be alone," Syrosk calmly answered.

"You know why? Because they know you've given them all you can. There's nothing more you can provide them," Thorel declared.

"I take that as a sign that I have fulfilled my duties as master," Syrosk replied.

"Are you that dense? They cannot move through Sith space without a target on their backs," Thorel declared, raising his tone. "One of your students was almost killed, and what did you do? Nothing. Hell, I've given them more than you have in the past month."

"How else could you convince them to join Tash?" Syrosk snidely asked.

"This had nothing to do with Tash!" Thorel shouted, his otherwise pleasant demeanor shattering. "Are you that blind? That single-minded? When Lorrik was injured, I provided answers. I told him the truth, truth you had kept from him and the other students. After he and the others were exiled, I gave them a gift in good faith, letting them reclaim a piece of their lives because I knew it was something you'd never give them, even though it firmly rested within your power. I did. Not Tash. And definitely not you. You think Tash uses people as tools? What about you? What are your apprentices but a way to get back at Tash? You took them, trained them to prove a point. You don't care about them. You only care about yourself and getting revenge against my master."

Syrosk stared at the Human in silence, relaxing his once harsh glare. "And what about you? You truly care about the acolytes? My apprentices?"

"Yes, I do," Thorel adamantly stated.

"Then prove it," Syrosk rasped. "Don't allow Tash to sacrifice them for whatever he has planned."

"They aren't sacrifices," Thorel countered. "They're not even going to be hitting military targets."

"Then what is their purpose?" Syrosk asked.

Thorel offered the curious arch of his brow toward the inquisitive Sith Lord, studying the alien's wrinkled, leathery visage. Without another word, the red-coated apprentice stepped away from Syrosk, making his way deeper into the forgotten halls, leaving the Sith Lord's question unanswered. As the Human disappeared down one of the many corridors that connected the halls, the Sith Lord release a low grumble. Turning around, Syrosk began making his way back to his chambers, but not below slamming his armored fist against the wall.

Within his compact, unassuming quarters, the Sith Lord journeyed deeper within his home, passing through the barren meditation room that greeted him when he first stepped in. Syrosk ceased his advance in front of a holoterminal. Carefully examining the device, he input a brief message and sent it to its eight intended recipients. The message was off, and the Sith Lord was alone in his quarters. Alone with his thoughts.

He began to pace in front of the holoterminal, occasionally looking back to the communications device. The Sith Lord walked back and forth, maybe for seconds, maybe for minutes, maybe for hours, he did not know. Time had lost its meaning as he waited, focused solely on whether or not he would receive a reply. Eventually, a lone ping sounded out from the holoterminal, signaling a response. Syrosk quickly engaged the device to find a message from Lorrik providing him the details of a better means to communicate. Punching in the acquired data, the Sith Lord found himself connecting to a holoterminal in Yerrig's office on Ortess-3.

Slowly, the grainy image of Lorrik appeared above the terminal's holoprojector. Then, one by one the other apprentices came into view, standing beside the Human. The eight of them stood together, ready to address their master.

"My students," Syrosk began. "It is good to see you all together and safe."

"It's good to see you too, Syrosk," Lorrik spoke for the group. "I assume you have more information."

"Indeed," Syrosk replied. "Tash's apprentice is on Korriban organizing the other students for something big."

"Which apprentice?" Isorr butted in.

"Pardon?" Syrosk replied, a genuine confusion in his voice.

"So Vai is there…" Lorrik muttered. "Any idea what they are planning on doing?"

"Nothing specific," Syrosk admitted. "But the acolytes are being outfitted and armed for war. Tash intends to take them into battle."

"That much we've gathered ourselves," Lorrik declared. "We need specifics."

"We're not likely to get them," Syrosk rasped. "We should meet up. Decide how to proceed."

"We decide how to proceed only when we know what Tash is planning," Lorrik adamantly stated. "Not a moment before."

"I've met with Vai," Syrosk admitted. "He'll not reveal any more to me, and I trained his mind too well to pick up any of his thoughts. By the time I uncover their intentions, they'll be mobilized and we won't be able to stop them."

"Anything involving the acolytes will have to be filtered through the instructors, correct? If I recall correctly, they weren't the most strong-willed individuals. Take your answers from them."

"Are you the one giving orders now?" Syrosk asked, releasing a raspy chortle.

"Of course not, I'm merely offering guidance," Lorrik stated with a grin. "And remember Syrosk. The five layers."

The image of the apprentices faded as the communications ceased. The Sith Lord was left staring at the blank wall across from him. Syrosk adopted a rough grin upon his rugged and leathery visage, stroking the tip of one of his horns. His students had come a long way. Even he was amazed at how strong they had become. How capable they were. And in light of recent events, none of them looked to possess anything less than absolute focus and tenacity. He believed in them. And they believed in him.

Exiting his quarters, the Sith Lord made his way back toward Tash's domain. Crossing the cold, metallic halls of the Academy, Syrosk eventually entered the shoddier corridors that linked his rival's classrooms. We walked with purpose, heavy boots clanking against the hard floor beneath his feet. He reached out with his mind, searching for his target. Searching for someone suitable. It wasn't long before he found it.

Walking down one of the many narrow and winding hallways that made up the sector, Syrosk set his eyes on one of Tash's instructors. The Human was garbed in robes only slightly above the acolytes' in quality, signifying him of his elevated station. The Human possessed little in remarkable traits, but Syrosk instantly recognized him as the teacher of inquisitors Lorrik once belonged to.

Hearing the echoing footsteps sounding out behind him, the Human turned around with a startled expression before calming down as soon as he recognized the alien Sith Lord. The instructor adopted a snide expression as he barely paid attention to Syrosk's approach.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Lord Syrosk. It looks like your-"

Before he could finished his sentence, the instructor was interrupted by the Sith Lord firmly tapping his index finger against the Human's forehead. The teacher immediately blacked out, crumbling to the floor.

* * *

The instructor awoke to find himself sitting in a small, barren chamber. Panning his gaze across the dark metallic walls that encroached upon him, he struggled to move, only to find his arms and legs bound to the chair. Slowly, Syrosk came into view as he circled around from behind the immobilized teacher.

"What… what are…"

The Sith Lord pressed his finger against the Human's lips before moving his hand upward, placing his palm against the instructor's forehead.

"Don't worry," Syrosk rasped. "You won't remember any of this. Then again, you might not even remember your name afterward."


	104. 4-03 Insights

**Chapter Three: Insights**

"The Coruscanti Vaults…"

The eight apprentices shared a curious look as they puzzled over Syrosk's words. Tightly packed in front of the holoterminal in Yerrig's office, the students stood in silence, awaiting an explanation from the electronic image of their master.

"The Empire is preparing to strike at the heart of the Republic," Syrosk revealed. "Tash and his acolytes are to take part in the invasion."

"In what capacity?" Lorrik asked.

"There are two stages to the invasion," Syrosk explained. "A series of strike teams who will disable the planet's defense grid makes up the first. A massive influx of ground troops and aerial bombardment makes up the second. Tash intends to slip himself and his students between these two forces. He's targeting a number of vaults thought to contain Sith and dark side artifacts not guarded within the Jedi temple."

"Vaults? Plural?" Lorrik asked.

"Correct," Syrosk replied. "They are organized such that an attack on one would lead to defenders folding in on the attackers. But attacking multiple vaults simultaneously would prevent them from being overwhelmed. The added confusion of the surrounding invasion would also play to their advantage. Each classroom is being assigned their own vault. And while they're not strictly military targets, they are guarded by Jedi Knights."

"The acolytes aren't strong enough to take down Knights, are they?" Ryloh asked.

"As individuals, no," Lorrik stated. "But as a swarm they could likely overwhelm them if there was no more than two or three. They'd still suffer heavy casualties though."

"The students are being told that this is their chance to prove their worth to the Sith Order. That those who survive will no longer be looked down as mere acolytes toiling in the Academy," Syrosk declared.

"Depending on what's in those vaults, he may not be too far off," Lorrik admitted. "Force artifacts aren't exactly a renewable resource. If they secure enough of them, even traditionalists might be willing to overlook the acolytes' backgrounds."

"That would depend on Tash's willingness to share the glory of their retrieval," Syrosk rasped. "Which he most certainly isn't. The instructor I interrogated believed the acolytes' original purpose was solely to serve the interest of their 'betters'."

"People willing to teach students like the them were likely in short supply," Lorrik stated. "Tash might have just told them whatever he needed to in order to get them on his side."

"You could say that about anyone Tash interacts with," Syrosk muttered.

"Right. It's not a question of if he's lying, but to whom," Lorrik replied. "Is he lying on behalf of his students. Or on behalf of himself."

"I thought the answer readily apparent," Syrosk declared.

"You met with Vai, correct?" Lorrik asked. "What's his feelings on the subject?"

The Sith Lord took a quick pause. "He… believes Tash is doing this for the benefit of his students. Or rather, he wants to believe that. He seems to genuinely care for their well-being. Perhaps we can use that to our advantage…"

"Our advantage towards… what, exactly?" Lorrik asked.

"Towards stopping Tash," Syrosk answered. "He's using these acolytes to earn himself favor. Whatever is in those vaults, he's going to keep for himself, and those students are going to die in the process. If Tash wins, the surviving acolytes will be forgotten, and people like them, like you, will have lost their chance to prove themselves."

"And what if we stop them?" Lorrik countered. "Won't they lose that chance anyway? Assuming you had a way to stop all this, what would that accomplish? The students wouldn't take part in the invasion. They'd still be stuck on Korriban. And without Tash, they'd have even less standing than they do now. You won't be able to swoop in finish what you started over ten years ago."

"Then what would you suggest?" Syrosk asked.

Lorrik scratched his chin, taking a few deep breaths. "Things are already in motion. If we can't stop the ride, we might as well get on."

Syrosk flinched. "You mean help Tash?"

"I mean help his acolytes," Lorrik clarified. The Sith Lord passed his gaze over his apprentices. Each and every one of them stood in silent agreement. "If we can find out their targets, we can join the other students, fight alongside them, and make sure they get the credit they deserve."

Syrosk fell silent as he processed his apprentice's suggestion. "Eight classes, eight targets… if you split up you could each cover one group."

"We could. But if we're to be going up against trained Jedi, we're better off remaining in pairs," Lorrik stated. "We're more effective that way."

"But it also leaves four classes unguarded," Syrosk added.

"I take it Tash and Vai are going after their own targets," Lorrik offered. "What of the others in his employ? His instructors?"

"They're to remain on Korriban," Syrosk replied.

The Human lowered and focused his gaze and he poured over his own thoughts. "Four classes…"

"Protecting four is better than none," Jresh whispered to his companion.

"I know there's a way," Lorrik softly declared. "There has to be."

"We can figure one out," Jresh stated.

"It's not like we have a lot of time," Lorrik muttered.

"What about Syrosk? What's his role going to be?" Isorr asked.

"He's strong enough to handle a fifth target by himself," Arlia stated. Both Lorrik and the Sith Lord seemed reluctant.

"The only way this plan is going to work is if Tash and his people don't even realize it's being carried out," Lorrik declared. "Syrosk being involved would be too obvious. The students would immediately know he was there to oppose Tash, so they might reject his help outright."

"Let them reject it!" Arlia shouted. "If it keeps them alive, who cares what they think?"

"No. He's right," Syrosk interrupted. "Besides. I know exactly where I plan to be. I intend to confront Tash directly."

"Didn't we just decide on doing this, you know, as covertly as possible?" Arlia recalled.

"Tash believes that my apprentices have all but abandoned me," Syrosk explained. "My actions will be seen as mine and mine alone. You will remain free to operate as you please. Tash will make short work of his target, so he'll need to be distracted while you carry out your plan anyway." Lorrik and the others looked to their master with trepidation. "It was inevitable that Tash and I face each other. But now, thanks to you, I no longer believe the outcome predetermined. Just as I no longer see it as a selfish endeavor. You've all come a long way, and there is little more for me to teach you. Even if my life should end, I am satisfied knowing that it was spent on more than myself. This invasion marks the beginning of a new era for the Sith. One of greatness. But most importantly, one you all might have a hand in shaping. It should come as no surprise that I am proud of you all."

"Thank you, master," Lorrik politely offered with a bow of his head. One by one, the other apprentices followed, respectfully providing their master with their own bows. "Now, there's preparations to be made."

"Of course," Syrosk declared. "I'll work on securing us access to the invasion. All of this will be for naught if we are shot out of the skies before making it planetside."

"Give us a time and a place, and we'll be ready," Lorrik confidently proclaimed. "For now, we'll do our best to prepare."

The Sith Lord offered a silent nod and ended the transmission. As the image of their master faded from the holoprojector, the apprentices were left to themselves once more.

"So. Back on Team Syrosk," Kar'ai said, half-joking.

"No. This isn't about Tash and Syrosk anymore," Lorrik declared. "We're looking out for the students. And not just the acolytes. Them. Us. Vai. Isorr's dad. We're not proving our worth. We're earning our freedom. The time to be tied to the whims of our masters is over. We're going to Coruscant. We're taking what's in those vaults. And we're going to use it to earn our freedom. If Tash survives, we leave him whatever he personally gets his hands on. If Syrosk survives, we cordially part ways, maybe repay him for all he's done for us. Otherwise, we keep the acolytes safe and help them complete their objective. But no one else is to earn favor from their toils but them. If we're successful, we'll have a bartering chip, one we can use to become true Sith, to become real students of the Academy, or to leave the Order entirely. For months, for years, we've walked paths set by our superiors. Now, we'll finally be given a choice. Those who wish to return to the traditional path may do so. Those who wish for something different may do so. Those who wish to reject everything may do so. We'll be the ones who make that choice. No one else. It'll be a fresh start. The first and likely last one we'll ever get in this life."

The apprentices looked to one another, a determined glint in each of their eyes.

"Either Tash or Syrosk is going to wind up dead," Arlia stated. "Are we okay with that?"

"It was inevitable that those two would come to blows. Always has been," Lorrik stated.

"I thought you didn't believe in the inevitable," Arlia replied.

"I don't believe a person's fate to be predetermined," Lorrik explained. "But when two opposing forces have their minds dead set on something, there's not much that can be done."

"Suppose Tash manages to kill Syrosk, what then?" Arlia asked.

"If Tash's motive really was to elevate his students, then we'll have done nothing wrong," Lorrik answered. "Our business will be concluded."

"And if that isn't his true motive?" Arlia added. "Are we strong enough to face someone more powerful than Syrosk?"

"He can't challenge all eight of us," Lorrik adamantly stated.

"He might not need to," Isorr muttered. "It's good to be confident, but we're talking about taking part in what's likely to be the Empire biggest invasion to date. We'll be fighting trained Jedi. Not sparring. Not dueling. Fighting. No rules. No limits. Only life and death. We may not meet Tash at his peak, but will any of us be in good enough condition to challenge a Darth?"

"We'll do what we have to," Lorrik calmly stated.

"And what of Tash's apprentices? Vai? My father?" Isorr asked.

"If they're after their own targets, we'll treat them the same as the acolytes," Lorrik declared. "They can keep the spoils for themselves or turn them over to Tash if they'd like. If Tash opposes us, it means he doesn't care about his students, which means their faith in him will be shaken. Even Syrosk admits that Vai cares about the acolytes, so I know he'll stand with us over Tash if push comes to shove. I take it your father would as well?"

The Zabrak offered a quick nod as his partner let out a soft chuckle.

"It seems like you got everything figured out," Arlia said with a slight grin.

"Hardly," Lorrik muttered, possessing a melancholy rather than his usual pep or exuberance. "We're still only capable of covering half the classes. If sure the others can succeed by themselves, but at what cost?"

"You can't save everyone, Lorrik," Arlia stated, her tone lacking its usual bite. "This is war. I mean, let's face it, the likelihood any of us come back from this is pretty slim."

The Human's gaze began to drift toward the floor, before he felt a comforting hand placed upon his shoulder.

"Don't worry," Jresh spoke up. "We'll think of something. But if we truly are about to invade the Republic homeworld, we need to make sure we're as ready as we can be. What's the point if we can't even protect those four classes?"

Lorrik lifted his gaze, a smile on his face. "He's right. So long as we have time, we'll continue our training."

"Hrmph. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm looking forward to finally fighting someone besides another Sith," Isorr declared as he turned away and stepped out of Yerrig's office. The other apprentices followed him out, engaging in light banter in the process, leaving Lorrik and Jresh alone in the still relatively compact chamber.

"You wouldn't happen to have any ideas, would you?" Lorrik softly muttered.

The Pureblood began to stroke the fleshy tendrils of his chin. "Well, if we can only protect four classes, we can still choose which four classes to protect. We all have a good grasp of our former classmates' skill levels. We could likely direct our focus toward four of the less proficient classrooms."

"I don't know. It feels weird," Lorrik admitted. "I mean, we're practically deciding who amongst them gets to live, and who has to die. That's exactly the kind of thing I wanted to avoid. Who am I to dictate their fates like that?"

"Sometimes we have to make sacrifices," Jresh stated. "Sometimes we can't think about things on the individual level. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you can't prevent something. All you can do is control the damage."

"If we asked Vai or Isorr's dad for help… it could wind up causing the whole plan to unravel," Lorrik replied. "But maybe we could call upon others?"

"Others?" Jresh repeated with an arch of his brow. "What are you thinking?"

"Either something incredibly smart… or incredibly stupid," Lorrik admitted. "Do you think you could take over for me here? Keep the others busy without letting them kill each other?"

"I suppose," Jresh hesitantly replied. "What do you have in mind?"

"I think if I told you, it'd just make you worry," Lorrik muttered. "But I'm thinking of returning to Korriban."

"Korriban?" Jresh repeated, the confusion in his voice readily apparent. "Aside from the fact that we're all still exiles, what would you hope to accomplish there?"

"I don't know," Lorrik replied. "There's a chance I'll find someone who can help us. And if not, I can monitor the classrooms. See which of them will need the most help."

"Why not ask Syrosk to do it?" Jresh asked.

"The more Syrosk interferes, the more likely it is for our plan to fall apart before the even reach Coruscant," Lorrik answered.

"And what of the fact that you're not allowed on Korriban, let alone within the Academy?"

"A while back, Ryloh gave me something," Lorrik explained. "The artifact they retrieved from the tomb they raided. He says it can mask my presence."

"After the trouble our item caused for us-"

"I know. I know. It's dangerous," Lorrik admitted. "But is it any less dangerous than attempting to outwit a Darth? Any less dangerous than taking part in an invasion of the Republic's capital? I'm sorry, but the time to worry about danger has long since passed. You said I needed to believe in myself. Well, I do."

"I also said none of us expect you to rush blindly into things," Jresh countered.

"I'm not rushing into anything. I'm simply doing everything I can think of that could help us out. Let's face it. Our options are limited. The future is going to come down to a few gambles. But I'm going to need you to believe in me like you always have. If you can do that, then I'm sure I can succeed."

The Pureblood looked into his companion's eyes, struggling to hide the trepidation brewing behind his stoic visage. "You're right. I do believe in you. And if you think it will help, I won't stop you."

"Thanks Jresh," Lorrik said, wrapping his arms around his partner. The two shared a brief hug before separating, making their way out of the office. "I'm going to have a talk with my parents."

"Alright. I'll join the others in their training," Jresh calmly stated.

"Try not to break anything before I get back," Lorrik warmly advised as he made his way toward his family's dwelling.

"No promises," Jresh warmly replied, waving goodbye.

The inquisitor walked through the empty halls of the palace with a quickened pace, eager to converse with his parents. Arriving at their home, he offered a quick knock on the door before stepping in. He was greeted with a gentle welcome from his mother and father who beckoned him to join them in the living room. The son took a seat on the couch opposite his parents, a smile on his face but his shoulders hanging abnormally low.

"Mom. Dad. There's something I need to tell you," Lorrik began. "There's a chance I won't be seeing you again-"

"Lorrik," Garen interrupted. "When you were but a child, and a man came to take you away, I wanted to tell you that we might not see each other again. But I refrained. A part of me wondered if I should have. If we should have said our goodbyes in any other way than how we did. But you did come back. We did see each other again. Trying to brace ourselves for the possibility you might not have wouldn't have changed that fact. It wouldn't have changed how happy we were to see you again. It wouldn't have changed how we'd feel if you hadn't shown up. I guess what I'm trying to say is, it's not worth putting faith in goodbyes."

"You're right," Lorrik offered with a soft chuckle. "Dad. Mom. I love you. Always have. Always will. The moment all this is over, I'll come see you again."

"We're happy to hear it, son," Garen stated.

"How long are you two planning on staying here?" Lorrik asked.

"Not much longer," Meylin warmly replied. "We'll leave when we don't have to worry about entertaining you or your guests."

"We'll be moving on soon enough," Lorrik explained.

"Lorrik. I know you and you friends are caught up in some pretty heavy stuff," Garen admitted. "I don't know what exactly you're involved in or where you're heading, but I wish you the best of luck."

"Thank you," Lorrik replied. The inquisitor softly bit his lips as thoughts began to churn within his head. "You wouldn't happen to know where your new home will be, do you?"

"We haven't decided yet," Meylin answered. "But thanks to you, we could move to just about anywhere."

"Well, I would strongly advise you avoid Republic space for the time being," Lorrik declared. "Things are heating up, and I'd rather not have to worry about you two getting caught up in unnecessary trouble."

"Don't worry. We know how to steer clear of trouble," Garen replied.

The son let out a light chuckle. "If that were true, we never would have been slaves."

"I suppose you've got a point," Garen admitted alongside a hearty laugh. The others joined in, sharing a laugh before lifting themselves from their seats. The three individuals came together, wrapping their arms around one another, holding each other in warm silence.

"Until next time," Lorrik softly whispered, releasing his grip around his parents.

"Until next time," Garen replied. The son turned toward the door, stopping just short of exiting the domicile.

"And I mean it about the arm. We're going to get you a new one," Lorrik heartily declared to his mother before stepping out of his parents' home.

The inquisitor turned his attention toward his and Jresh's room, focusing on his destination as a tears began to form beneath his eyes. Steeling himself, the Human marched on.

Within the guest room, the inquisitor looked over his belongings. Passing by the desk, the arrangement of artifacts remained where he had last left them. Focusing on the black facemask he had received from Ryloh, he picked up the item and studied it within his hands. The metallic plate was cold to the touch, ethereally so. It was featureless, its shape contorting only to accommodate the basic extremities of wearer's face.

Next, the Human began digging through his old clothes, searching for something with a hood.


	105. 4-04 Gambles

**Chapter Four: Gambles**

Within the palace foyer, six of the eight apprentices continued their diligent regiment of training, knowledge of their upcoming battle firmly planted in their minds. Six tested one another, as the seventh watched over, arms crossed, eyes sharpened, back pressed against one of the many decorative columns that lined the chamber. The Pureblood's discerning gaze passed from one individual to the next, watching the displays of martial skill and spiritual prowess with a subtle admiration. But as he watched his fellows, his eyes were immediately drawn to the individual making his way across the chamber's edge.

Lorrik headed toward the palace entrance, donning the outer coat of an older outfit, a hooded black robe with purple trim, Part of the ensemble first gifted to him by Syrosk when they had begun their studies under him. The hood raised, the inquisitor kept his head lowered as he silently walked across the foyer, a small traveler's bag draped over his shoulder. As surreptitious as his maneuvering was, he couldn't escape the Pureblood's notice, nor the notices of the other apprentices. One by one, they laid eyes on the departing Human, putting a pause to their various tests and duels as they puzzled over the inquisitor's actions.

"Where's Lorrik going?" Ryloh asked, him and the others setting their eyes on the Human, slowly watching him make his way across the foyer.

"Korriban," Jresh bluntly declared.

"Korriban?" Kar'ai repeated. "What's he thinking?"

"There are preparations to be made," Jresh explained. "Lorrik has chosen to make them himself."

"They aren't going to forget about the expulsion," Arlia declared.

"He knows. He has a plan," Jresh stoically stated. The apprentices fell quiet as the Human faded from view, stepping past the confines of the palace interior. Each student possessed a number of thoughts swirling in their head. Confusion. Concern. Disappointment. All wondered what the inquisitor hoped to accomplish, but more importantly why they weren't included in his plans.

"So," Arlia muttered, breaking the silence. "We're just letting him go off on his own? Is that safe? Is that smart? I mean, I know he has a knack for pulling things off, but there's a significant chance things could backfire, especially on Korriban, especially within the Academy."

"You've placed your faith in him up till this point. I see no reason for that to cease," Jresh adamantly declared. "If he sees a problem, he seeks out a solution. The best thing we can do is trust him. And be prepared when he eventually returns. Every moment he spends out there is a moment spent without training. So we'll have to push ourselves that much harder to make up for him."

The apprentices supplied a steady supply of nods, returning to their various bouts and trials. The warriors clashed against one another with body and blade, testing the limits of their strength. The once perfectly smooth flooring beneath them cracked and warped beneath the immense pressure of their blows, their boots and clawed feet firmly planted and unshakable. The inquisitors tested the limits of the connection to the Force. Fine sculptures and pottery were lifted from their pedestals and flung across the foyer with expert precision, shattering against the walls and pillars that surrounded them. With great focus and concentration, Ryloh and Arlia carried a spark in their hand, cultivating it before releasing it in a sharp bolt of Force Lightning.

Over the course of the day, Jresh joined in, keeping his mind on his companion even through the rigors of battle. The seven apprentices faced one another, going all out, stopping just short of utterly breaking each other. For hours they toiled, until the lands around them were subjected to the falling sun. After a full day's worth of challenges, the apprentices retired for the night, returning to their rooms to rest.

Only Jresh returned alone. As his partner flew toward Korriban, he was left with a quiet bedroom, and an empty bed. Passing by his companion's desk, the Pureblood puzzled for a moment, as he had expected a single item removed from its surface. Instead, he found the tabletop completely unoccupied, all of the artifacts missing.

He thought to piece together what Lorrik was planning, but chose instead to trust in his partner. After all they had been through together, he was confident in his companion's abilities. His decisions. Returning to his own belongings, the Pureblood began sifting through the clothes and armors, preparing the next day's outfit, only to find a pair of gauntlets missing.

* * *

The Imperial shuttle slipped out of hyperspace, the faintly glowing ball of orange dust resting firmly in the sights of the vessel's single organic occupant. Urging the ship forward, Lorrik approached the Sith planet as fast as the sub-light engines would allow. He had his eyes set on making it planetside, forgoing a stop at the world's orbital space station. Passing through the dusty atmosphere, the shuttle made its way to the surface, but the area beneath the vessel was utterly unoccupied. Neither person nor structures dotted the lands below, only the stretching wastes and jagged ravines. The Korriban Academy was but a small blip on the horizon, but Lorrik had no interest in that place. At least, not yet.

As the Imperial shuttle descended, the sandy winds parted ways, revealing a fissure in the ground below, shaping into a sizable canyon. The Valley of Forgotten Lords. Its location gleamed from his quick perusals of the Academy archives, Lorrik had reason to return to the place that almost cost himself and his partner their lives.

As the shuttle touched down in the middle of the valley, the Human tapped away at the vessel's console, giving the mechanical pilot more control than it already possessed. The droid regulated the stilled machine and Lorrik ducked into the passenger bay behind him, setting his eyes on the traveler's bag he had brought with him. Opening its top, the inquisitor rummaged through the meager belongings, returning with the Sith faceplate gifted to him by Ryloh.

Lorrik stared at the artifact, face-to-featureless-face. Turning the item over in his hands, the inquisitor took a deep breath before affixing it to his hooded visage. Without straps of fixtures, the faceplate secured itself to its wearer with the Force. As the mask hugged the Human's flesh, Lorrik lost his sight, no eyeholes in the solid plate. Things grew quiet as it felt as if everything faded away, only the booming sound of his own breaths dominating his senses. He immediately felt alone. Isolated. Trapped. Suffocated. The inquisitor's hands began to shake, then his legs, then his entire countenance.

But slowly, Lorrik's vision began to return. The image of the passenger bay's interior appeared in the inquisitor's mind, as if seen through a wide lens. His breathing calmed, and one by one his senses returned. He felt himself returning to normal, except for an enduring feeling of isolation. No amount of focus or concentration could overwhelm that dominating sense. It was if he was trapped in a vacuum.

Regaining control of his body, the inquisitor straightened his stance, lifting the traveler's bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Slowly, he exited the shuttle and stepped onto the Korriban surface . A gentle breeze swept through the valley, the sandy winds nipping at the Human's legs. Examining his surrounding, the inquisitor set his sights on his destination, the tomb he and Jresh had entered.

Approaching the opened tomb, Lorrik saw the cracked door still laying a short distance from the entrance. In their absence, nothing had changed. Only a small amount of dust and dirt had breached the tomb's threshold, the olden stones that made up its interior going unscathed and unstained since their previous departure. Standing at the gateway between light and shadows, the masked inquisitor reaffirmed his grip on his traveler's bag and marched inside without an errant thought.

Walking through the shadowed halls of the forgotten tomb, Lorrik was constantly reminded that he was without his partner. Each step that echoed throughout the chambers were his and his alone. But he walked with confidence, enough so that his lightsaber rest at his hip rather than within his hand at the ready. As dim as the halls were, he image he received of the tomb's interior proved more than sufficient to navigate the narrow corridors. Though the mask threatened to bury its wearer in their own mind, it was dedicated to serving its master's well-being.

Before he could even see the next chamber, Lorrik felt the presence of a familiar figure. Eventually, he laid eyes upon the circle of runes that emitted their red luminescence in the center of a grand chamber, encircling the same crimson monster he and his partner had faced once before. The enduring, undying Massassi. The various wounds suffered by the Pureblood's lightsaber seem to have faded. All but one. The beast's hide had recovered from the scorches and cuts that had been inflicted upon its spiked hide, but it still lacked the blackened hand that had been severed from it.

Lorrik approached the kneeling beast with a series of careful, quieted steps. Face to face with the corrupted being, the inquisitor felt his presence not yet revealed, until the Massassi's eyes quick locked with his own. Nothing else on the beast moved, his glowing eyes fell upon the masked inquisitor with a burning intensity. The glowing runes that surrounded the guardian remained firmly in place, not releasing the beast as they had last time. Carefully, the Human reached into his bag, retrieving the beast's severed hand, the Massassi's expression not changing with the presence of his lost appendage. With no further delay, the inquisitor set the blackened hand on the ground in front of its former master.

Circumventing the stilled guardian of the tomb, Lorrik set his sights on the final chamber ahead. Leaving the beast behind him, the inquisitor pressed forward, eager to meet with his intended target. Stepping into the tomb's final chamber, the masked Human saw the empty pedestal that once held a holocron.

"I see mine was not the only tomb raided," a male voice resounded throughout the chamber, the words tapping directly into the inquisitor's mind. "Who are you and what do you want?"

Pulling the holocron from his back, Lorrik raised it firmly in his hand, as if presenting it. "I think you know exactly who I am. As for why I am here, I desire your assistance."

In front of the inquisitor, the ethereal image of an ancient Sith Lord began to coalesce. The holocron's original owner.

"So you've managed to plunder my neighbors as well," the spirit stated.

"Actually, this was a gift," Lorrik explained, pointing to the mask with his other hand.

"Why have you returned?" the spirit harshly asked.

"Like I said, I desire your assistance," Lorrik declared. Taking a few steps forward, the Human passed through the inquisitive spirit and returned the holocron to its pedestal. The ghost watched with confusion, arching his translucent brow. "I want to offer a trade."

"What could you possibly offer me?"

"Well, for one, your holocron," Lorrik stated. "I also gave your pet his hand back. But more than that, I offer the chance at freedom."

"Freedom?"

"That's right. I want to help you get out of this tomb," Lorrik admitted.

"And how would you do that?" the spirit asked, entertaining the inquisitor.

"I've looked inside your holocron. I know what you were capable of. The knowledge you possessed. I can supply you with a new body."

"Are you offering yourself?"

"Oh, hell no," Lorrik rejected. "But there's a fine stock of Force-sensitive bodies only a few hours away."

The spirit stared at the masked inquisitor, trying to glean some sort of information from him. His faceless visage and impenetrable mind proved it all but impossible. "Even if you could provide a sufficient body, I cannot adequately perform the ritual to bind my spirit to it with in my incorporeal state."

"Then allow me to perform it for you," Lorrik offered.

The spirit let out a low chortle. "Just because you managed to sneak out of here with my holocron, that does not mean you possess power. What makes you think yourself capable of-"

The spirit fell silent as the inquisitor slowly removed the glove covering his right hand. He stared at the marred, blackened flesh that stemmed from his palm. "I see you've studied my holocron thoroughly. You must be skilled to use such a technique without perishing yourself."

The inquisitor wordlessly slipped the glove back over his stained hand. "You underestimated me the first time I was here. I'd advise you not to do it a second time."

The spirit's eyes sharpened as he studied the Human further. "Why offer to help me? What do you hope to get out of it?"

"I propose a trade," Lorrik declared. "The Empire is invading the Republic capital. Home of the Jedi. There's a chance this may be the last great battle of the war." The spirit suddenly became much more interested. "Myself, my partner, as well as a few of our allies are to take part in the invasion. However, our interest is in protecting a group of Sith acolytes. A Sith Lord is sending them to their deaths, retrieving dark side artifacts the Republic and Jedi have kept locked away within a number of vaults on Coruscant. I would like you to take part in the invasion. If you can protect a particular group of acolytes, you can have everything in the vault they were targeting. In the process, you'll get the chance to take part in the greatest conflict in history, as well as kill a few Jedi along the way. You were waiting for your moment to return. This is it."

"Why are you interested in protecting a few lowly acolytes?" the spirit asked.

"Because I'd not see their lives cut short before they received the same chances I have," Lorrik admitted. "Their entire lives, they've been held back, restricted, forbidden from acting as they should. Not by the Republic. Not by the Jedi. But by their own Sith masters. I intend to rectify that. I'm sure you can empathize."

The spirit offered a curt glare toward the inquisitor. "You can get me a new body? Perform the ritual? Get me to Coruscant?"

"I can," Lorrik confidently replied.

"Then I await your return," the spirit muttered before disappearing from view.

* * *

Lorrik exited the tomb without interruption or objection, returning to his ship. Taking a seat at the controls, the inquisitor kept his mask on as he brought the shuttle to life. Rather than continue to direct the vessel, the Human input a series of commands and lifting himself from his seat as the shuttle raised itself off the ground.

"Remember, ALD," Lorrik spoke to the pilot droid. "I was never here. You are following an automated return protocol."

"Understood, master," the droid sounded out as the inquisitor ducked into the passenger bay.

The droid was now in total control of the vessel, piloting it toward the Academy as Lorrik patiently waited in the adjacent chamber. For hours he sat, stewing in the isolation of the shuttle, of the mask. He thought to remove it, but didn't want to risk enduring the application process again. Instead, he opted to remain alone with his own thoughts, only the sounds of the humming engine and his own breathing keeping him company the entire trip.

The shuttle crossed the arid, jagged lands of Korriban with haste, the Academy directly in its sights. As the ship approached the institution, the pilot droid began to receive numerous alerts and notifications. Trading of security codes. Acknowledgement of trajectory. Acknowledgement of surface-to-air batteries tracking its movements. The droid handled the various inquiries from Imperial personnel within the Academy with efficiency and poise expected of a logistics droid. Finding no faults with the shuttle's flight, it was allowed to close in on the Academy, circling around its back to find a less attended landing pad.

As the vessel touched down, it was approached with an Academy attendant, ready to greet the shuttle and learn its purpose. As the landing gears touched the metallic floor of the landing area and its entrance unfolded, the attendant patiently waited for someone to exit the craft.

Emerging from the shuttle, the masked inquisitor descending the brief ramp and stepped onto the metallic surface below, a confused attendant standing in front of him. Taking a careful step closer, he realized the Imperial had yet to acknowledge his presence, instead continuing to direct his attention toward the ship. Lorrik stepped around the attendant, and made his way deeper into the Academy. The apprentice had an ultimate destination in mind, but decided to make a quick stop prior.

Journeying into the halls of Tash's classrooms, Lorrik caught a glimpse of the preparation his master had spoken of over the holocommunicator. Supplies were being brought in from outside. The instructors and their students were out of the classrooms, performing last minute training for the battle to come. Passing through the old halls, Lorrik saw the old dueling areas filled with acolytes, garbed in simplistic armors and holding standard lightsabers in their hands. Gone were the training sabers and gray robes he had grown accustomed to.

Moving through the corridors, the idea that Lorrik could study his surroundings, study the people around him without fear of reproach was liberating, and yet unsettling. He once wanted nothing more than to be able to operate without the scrutinizing eyes of his superiors casting their judgmental glares toward him. But now, it was as if he didn't exist. Students passed right by him, not offering a second glance. The only way he'd receive attention was if he physically interacted with someone.

Searching the halls, Lorrik sought out a particular individual. Or rather, a set of individuals. He couldn't risk disrupting the plan by including Vai or Syrosk. He needed someone far less invested. Someone with no desire to be there. Someone he could convince to be a part of something greater.

As a batch of students and their instructor left the dueling circles, Lorrik spotted his targets standing behind a desk within the sparring chamber. The quartermaster and the weapons master.

The pair of Human brothers chatted behind the counter, taking little interest in the activities of the acolytes around them. Engaging in light conversation, the duo hadn't notice the approach of the featureless Sith. In fact, it wasn't until he was but a meter away that the pair felt a presence, an odd itch in the back of their minds. Looking up, a masked figure had appeared out of nowhere, casting his eyeless gaze toward them.

The shadowed Sith was a stranger to them, neither recognizing the mask nor attire of the standing figure. They assumed he was a student or master of the true Academy, though why he was in Tash's halls they had no clue.

"Can we help you?" the quartermaster spoke up, maintaining a standard politeness until they knew of the figure's proper rank and station.

"Yes. Yes you can," the Sith muttered.

The voice pounded their sense, harshly loud and yet soft as a whisper at the same time. It was like nothing they had heard before, as if a thousand different individuals spoke in unison, their voices merging and becoming one. Coupled with the featureless visage that continued to stare them down, it all added up to a deeply disconcerting experience.

"I would like to offer a trade."


	106. 4-05 Rituals

**Chapter Five: Rituals**

The Valley of Forgotten Lords. Once more the Imperial shuttle touched down amongst the hidden ravine, its single organic occupant stepping out amongst the cracked and invaded tombs. The hooded, masked inquisitor stood amongst the dusty winds of the Korriban canyon, but in his return he carried more than the traveler's bag draped over his shoulder. This time, he toted a quiet, motionless body, wrapped head to toe in white cloth. Adequately holding up the weight of the sheet-covered humanoid, the inquisitor stepped from the shuttle and made his way toward the tomb of the ghostly alchemist.

Lorrik marched, across dirt, across stone, across light, across shadows, focused only on his destination. Delving deeper into the darkened tomb, the Human steeled himself for what possibilities awaited him. He could not afford to lose his confidence now. He had to maintain control. If he didn't, he would stand to lose much, much more.

Entering the chamber of the red sentinel, the inquisitor saw the beast no longer bound by the Sith sigils, standing outside the circle in its unfolded stance. Upright, the towering guardian of the tomb watched the Human approach with its glowing, piercing eyes, its two blackened fists clenched. Beside the corrupted Massassi stood its master, the ethereal image of a Sith Lord lost to time. The pair waited, as they always had, as they never had.

Stopping in front of the two, the ghost wordlessly directed the inquisitor to drop the body within the circle of runes. Lorrik complied, tossing it off of his shoulder, letting it impact against the ground with a sizable thud. The trio remained as silent and motionless as the tomb around them. Carefully, Lorrik firmly grasped the sides of his mask, tugging it free from his face. The sensation was overpowering as a surge of feelings he had almost forgotten came rushing back to him. It was like breaching the surface of a murky sea from which he could draw only distant, careful breaths. Regaining total control of his organic senses, the inquisitor reaffirmed his stance amidst the overload that threatened to dominate his mind.

"Are you ready to continue?" the spirit asked.

"Yes," Lorrik plainly stated.

Looking down at the wrapped body, the spirit adopted a coy smirk. "I must say, I had my doubts."

"You wouldn't be the first," Lorrik muttered, lowering himself to his knees. Putting the mask away in his traveler's bag, the inquisitor turned his attention to the wrapped body he had retrieved. Carefully he began unfolding and unwrapping the white sheet that covered it. Removing the cloth, the Human tossed it aside without a care.

Looking over the uncovered body, the spirit's countenance contorted into a disapproving scowl. "Is this some sort of joke?"

* * *

Back within the halls of the Academy, the true halls, the normal day to day operations were proceeding as usual even amidst the introduced chaos of the upcoming invasion. Imperial personnel still moved about the halls at the whims of their Sith masters, tending to their various duties and works. Overseers still monitored the progress of acolytes within the Academy halls and amongst the Korriban exterior.

Passing through the institution's main entrance, two individuals, two Humans in their relative youth, journeyed deeper into the Academy. One was garbed in black leathers and armorweave padding, a heavy cloak encasing his strong frame, trailing him with every step. The other was garbed in far more civilian garb, but still upheld to the Imperial standard of dress. A series of orderly, snug grays. A Sith and an Imperial. A warrior and a weakling. A tourist and a guide. But as contrary as it might have seemed, it was the lowly Imperial who led the Sith through the Academy.

"I apologize, my lord," the sheepish Imperial stated, keeping his head lowered and facing forward. "Things around the Academy have been hectic as of late. Matters not related to the war have been given a lower priority."

"I did not require nor desire an explanation," the Sith muttered, his voice as bitter as the permanent scowl etched onto his face. "Just take me to see my father."

The Imperial went rigid, straightening his posture alongside the scolding Sith, moving forward without another word. The two journeyed deeper into the Academy, past the entrance hall, into the cold, darkened corridors that made up its interior. Past the offices of personnel and staff. Past the training and sparring chambers. Toward a place nestled amongst the institution's medical facilities. A place not meant to treat the living, but the dead.

A holding room for the various cadavers and corpses eventually produced amongst the Academy grounds. Usually reserved for acolytes who were lucky enough to perish outside the local caverns and tombs, the visiting Sith sought a person of much greater rapport.

Arriving at their target destination, the pair found themselves within a cold chamber, even by Imperial standards. Dark and sterile metals comprised the entirety of the morgue, which was stocked with a series of slabs and storage lockers built into the walls. The Sith stood motionless in the chamber's center as the Imperial looked up and down the numerous square hatches that lined the walls.

"I've heard the man responsible for my father's death was not one of his students," the Sith coldly stated.

"That's what the official report says," the Imperial replied, carefully looking over the lockers' labels. "Unofficial word is they weren't even students of the Academy."

"My father could not have been felled by a non-Sith."

"He wasn't," the Imperial stated. "The killer was Sith, trained on Korriban, but not a legitimate students of the Academy. I guess his master just enjoys the scenery."

"Is the killer still on Korriban?" the Sith asked.

"I'm afraid not, my lord. The Sith as well as his fellow apprentices were exiled from Korriban. However, their master remains within these halls."

"Perhaps I should pay him a visit."

"If that is your desire, my lord," the Imperial replied as he found his target. "This is the one."

"Open it," the Sith bluntly directed.

The Imperial complied, wrenching the handle and opening the metallic hatch. Peering into the shadowed locker, the Human puzzled for a moment before sliding out a long, metallic slab. The slab and the locker were completely empty.

"Maybe… maybe that wasn't the right one…"

* * *

"How do you expect me to inhabit a body that is missing half of its head?" the spirit chided.

"Only the back half," Lorrik replied, kneeling beside the Overseer's corpse. "The face is a bit puffy, but-"

"The vessel needs all of its organs to function as a successful host," the spirit harshly explained. "I cannot bond with it if it's missing its brain."

"You can still inhabit it, correct? Mobilize it?" Lorrik asked.

"The connection won't last. The body will rapidly decay until I'm left with nothing," the spirit declared.

"How rapidly? Will it last the month? The week? Long enough to get you to Coruscant?"

"I'm not sure. No one, not even my fellow exiles successfully practiced the art of transference," the spirit admitted.

"So even if I had procured a perfect body you still wouldn't be sure of your success?" Lorrik plainly stated.

"Now is not the time to test me, boy! Remember, your friend isn't here to protect you this time."

"Yeah, but if I die, he'll feel it. Then it's only a matter of time before he comes here to avenge me. And believe me, he'd figure out a way to kill a ghost. Assuming he wasn't intent on making you suffer first."

"Big words from a small Sith," the spirit countered, unfazed.

"Maybe. But the last person to threaten me…" Lorrik began before offering a polite point of his finger toward the corpse between them. "I'll admit, the likelihood of things turning out perfectly for either of us is slim to none. But I'm giving you a chance for something you'd never receive otherwise."

"By stuffing me into the brainless cadaver of a dead Sith?" the spirit replied.

"I may not know much about raising the dead," Lorrik stated, "but I'm well-read enough in Sith histories to know how they've managed to cheat death. Sith have managed to remain amongst the living after their bodies have expired. Sometimes by keeping their organic shell intact through sheer force of will. Sometimes by abandoning it in favor of an artificial vessel. For the purposes of the ritual, let's consider this an artificial vessel instead of an organic one. Once you're on Coruscant, you'll have the pick of the litter, living and dead, to do with as you please, along with your newly acquired artifacts and treasures."

"Very well. This vessel will suffice… for now," the spirit declared. "And in return for it, I will take part in the invasion."

"Not quite," Lorrik countered. The spirit offered the firm arch of his ghostly brow. "The conditions of the trade were for you to take part in the invasion and protect a group of acolytes, and in return you'd receive full contents of their vault and the chance to strike the home of the Jedi and Republic. In exchange for me giving you a new body, I want something else."

"Something else?" the spirit disdainfully muttered.

"Don't worry," Lorrik warmly offered, patting the side of his traveler's bag. "It's something you can do from right here."

* * *

"How can you just misplace a body?" the Sith shouted as the stomped through the Academy. The Imperial followed in his wake, trying to keep up whilst minimizing his presence. The two Humans were of opposing natures, a scream beside a whimper.

"I'm not sure, my lord," the Imperial dishearteningly admitted. "There's nothing on record regarding plans to move or dispose of it."

The Sith stopped dead in his tracks, spinning on his heels to put his face directly in front of the Imperial's. "Then where is it?"

The Imperial winced. "I… I don't know."

"You said the killer's master is here? Right now?"

"Yes, my lord. He never leaves," the Imperial explained.

"What is his name?"

"Syrosk. Lord Syrosk."

"And where is he?"

* * *

"Very well. I agree to your terms," the spirit softly declared. "Are you ready to begin?"

"Now or never I suppose," Lorrik replied, setting his traveler's bag on the floor beside him. "I trust you'll guide me through the process."

"The burden of the ritual falls to me," the spirit explained. "You'll act as a tangible coordinator. The Massassi can endure the physical toll, but I require someone who can think and wield the Force to channel the various energies over the course of the ritual."

"What kind of physical toll is there?" Lorrik asked.

"Fairly agonizing pain and mental anguish," the spirit nonchalantly stated. "But my creation is rather durable."

"I noticed," Lorrik said, shooting a brief look to the towering, motionless Massassi. "Alright, let's do this."

The spirit looked to his monstrous guardian, wordlessly guiding him. The lumbering beast slowly lowered to its knees before scooping the vessel into its spiny arms. Lifting the empty shell off the cold stone flooring, the beast kept it raised, both of them resting within the circle of Sith runes etched onto the ground. The spirit faded from sight, but his presence could still be sensed by the inquisitor.

"Focus," the spirit's voice pounded Lorrik's senses. "Enter the circle and place a hand on the vessel. We're going to need a spark of dark side energy to get started."

Lorrik looked to the hunched form of the Massassi holding the vessel in his hands, almost as if on display. The beast waited, without protest and without movement, like a statue, a prop more than an actual participant in the ritual. The inquisitor passed the threshold of the runes, standing directly in front of the Human shell. Hovering his right hand over the vessel's chest, he began to concentrate, until he produced a charge of blue electricity arcing between his fingertips. The Force lightning grew in intensity, until it arced from its wielder's hand to the cadaver, singeing the surface of its under-robes. The inquisitor carefully lowered his hand until it made contact with the vessel's chest, small strings of electricity hopping around and over his gloved hand.

The red sigils etched into the ground began to shine with a harsh intensity, immediately shifting the chamber into a crimson hue. The vessel's body began to darken as some otherworldly shadow crept from the inquisitor's hand, eventually covering the entirety of the cadaver's frame. The once silent and stilled chamber began to whistle and whirr as a breeze began to encircle the ritualists. The breeze soon turned into a harsh bellow of wind and energy, but those within the circle maintained their adamant stances.

* * *

Syrosk's meditations were interrupted by a series of powerful knocks on his front door. The Sith Lord's eyes shot open, a curious arch present in his brow. He felt a foreign presence, one that held no place in his memories. Slowly, Syrosk raised himself from the floor, still donning the black plates of his armored suit beset by a heavy cloak.

The Sith Lord opened the door of his domicile to find an unfamiliar Human casting a harsh glare towards him. The young adult possessed a heavy, disapproving scowl bordering on a snarl. His body below the neck was encased in the garb of a warrior, one who had long ago graduated from the Academy and earned a place within the Sith Empire.

"Are you Syrosk?" the Sith bluntly asked.

The alien Lord maintained his stoic visage as he stared at the visitor. "Yes."

"Your apprentice killed my father," the Sith said through gritted teeth.

"I have many apprentices, and the galaxy has many fathers. You're going to have to be more specific," Syrosk coldly rasped.

"Don't test me, filth," the Sith chided. "My father, the Overseer."

"Ah yes, the one who cost my apprentices their training grounds," Syrosk replied, scratching his chin with his gauntleted hand. "Is there a reason you've come to interrupt my meditations?"

"Shut it!" the Sith shouted. "Your apprentices killed an Overseer within the halls of the Academy!"

"Actually it was just one that was responsible. He killed your father as well as a few of his underlings," Syrosk unabashedly explained.

"You dare speak of this with pride?"

"I would not equate a lack of shame with pride," Syrosk declared. "But I will not apologize for the justified actions of my students."

"But you will answer for them," the Sith declared. "I am invoking the Sith rite of challenge!"

"Is that so?" Syrosk stated, unimpressed.

"That's right. A duel. You and me," the Sith challenged.

"And if I refuse?"

"You can't refuse! The only way to call off the rite of challenge is through the intervention of both party's masters, and I know you've no master to speak on your behalf."

"But what's stopping me from simply ignoring you?"

"Aside from the dishonor forever tied to your name?"

"I'm an alien Sith Lord," Syrosk bluntly declared. "A few honor points gained or lost isn't going to change my life."

"If you refuse the challenge, I reserve the right to slay you where and how I see fit!"

The Sith Lord released a low, raspy sigh. "Fine. Where and when?"

"The Academy steps. Right now!"

"Very well," Syrosk drearily muttered, stepping from the confines of his home.

* * *

The air itself carried an electric charge as a cloud of dark side energy coalesced above the ritualists. A heavy aura, a shadowed veil enwrapped and encased the vessel as the chamber became increasingly chaotic. The inquisitor tried to keep his mind focused on the ritual, but found himself drawn toward the swirling vortex of Force energies that surrounded them. Even as he channeled his powers through his hand, he knew that he alone could not possibly be responsible for the grand display.

As the spirit melded with the empty vessel, Lorrik was catching a glimpse of what the dark side was truly capable of. The scene was of chaos, but the actions were of control. Within the glowing lights of the runes and crackling electricity, there was an enduring, consuming darkness. It was a contradictorily satisfying feeling that welled up within the inquisitor before sinking back down deep, deep into the recesses of his mind and spirit. He was a catalyst for change. A fundamental part of creating something new from something old. Something of worth from something discarded. Something of purpose from something without.

As the competing forces and energies surrounded the ritualists, they lashed out as the spirit connected itself to the tangible world. Arcs of lightning and shadowed whips wracked the Massassi's body, singeing and flaying his red hide. But still the beast did not budge from its stance. It had long abandoned any thoughts of pain, along with most vestiges of thought itself. It was a sentinel. A tool. A device to serve its master. And serve it did.

The surrounding storm heightened before releasing an immense flash of light and sound. The sigils etched into the stone floor released a final glow before going completely dark. The winds tore at the fringes of the ritualists before utterly stopping. And the vessel that was once consumed by darkness brightened, before radiating a forceful blast.

Lorrik was kicked back, flung across the chamber by the wave of kinetic energy. The inquisitor impacted against the hard floor with a resounding thud, releasing the breath he had been holding longer than he could remember. Slowly, raising himself, he saw the blast had not been enough to shift the Massassi from its spot, feet dug into the stone below it.

The chamber was quiet and dark. The crystal fixtures that hung from the structural columns has been pulled from their spots and shattered against the walls by the forceful winds. The sigils had lost any vestige of the magical glow they once emitted. The only light in the entire room, was the piercing glow of the Massassi's orange eyes. And beneath their gaze, the vessel began to twitch and move.

* * *

The Academy steps. The prime entrance to the institution. In plain view for all manner of Imperial and Sith, of student and master, of young and old to see. Two figures stood ready to do battle. A duel, called upon by the Sith rite of challenge.

In that moment, the normal bustling and movements of the Academy grounds had been put on hold. Those who had no choice but to continue their work did so without intrusion, everyone else gathering to watch the two Sith fight. Acolytes. Overseers. Imperial Guardsmen. All eyes rested on the duelists. Watching. Waiting. Each with unique purpose.

"In accordance with the rite of challenge, this shall be a duel to the death," the challenger declared. Syrosk remained silent, standing opposite the other Sith with a dulled expression. "You should be honored an alien like yourself is being treated accorded to Sith custom."

"And you should be honored your father was killed by a Sith of actual worth," Syrosk rasped.

"How dare you!" the Sith shouted. "Your apprentices had no right to challenge him!"

"They didn't. He attacked them."

"If he wanted them dead, it was their duty to die!"

Syrosk let out a low chortle. "That's what this is about isn't it? Honor. Duty. You don't even care that it was your father than was killed do you? You just care about the fact that he was an Overseer. That he was beaten by the students of a filthy alien like me. For a moment, I felt sorry for you, understood how you felt. When I lost my master, a man who felt like a father to me, I wanted nothing more than to lash out at those responsible. Because I cared for him. Because I felt the galaxy worse off without him. He had worth beyond what had been prescribed to him by his superiors."

"A Sith who would take you as an apprentice is no Sith," the challenger countered.

The alien Lord cemented his cold, sharpened glare upon his opponent.

"Who even are you? Who even was your father?" Syrosk asked. "I'm not talking about names, or titles, or who your masters were. I mean, who were you? What did you do? What did you provide beyond the reach of your blade? What have you accomplished, that isn't measured with a body count? Anything? Anything at all? What have you given the Empire, besides another generation of unchanging lackeys? You want to know what I've done? Take a look around you! I gave you this! I gave all of you this! This Academy? This planet? It still belonged to the Republic went I stepped foot on it. I cut through lines of defenders to give this place back to the Empire! I stood, right here, when Malgus shook the mountains with his shouts of victory! My master and I provided the Empire with hundreds, thousands of Force-sensitive children! I am responsible for this generation of Sith, and it would just as soon spit in my face as look at it! I have given the Empire eight of its best sons and daughters, and it has punished them because they had the gall to strike back against the Overseer who thought them weak, who thought them worthless! I have given more of my own blood for the Empire than any of you here! My filthy, tainted, alien blood! I have given more than any of you! And I have had more taken from me than any of you! And you, you think to tell me what constitutes a Sith? My master was Sith! I am Sith!"

"Then prove it," the challenger declared, igniting his lightsaber. Pointing the crimson blade toward his opponent, the Sith Lord let out a brief sigh.

"I shall," Syrosk muttered, subtly shifting his stance. Placing his body perpendicular to his opponent's, the Sith Lord slowly raised his gauntlets.

"Draw your weapon!" the challenger demanded.

"Already have," Syrosk replied, content with his empty hands.

The challenger sharpened his gaze, visage filled to the brim with disgust. Adopting an offensive stance, the Human readied himself before charging the alien. The Sith Lord took a deep breath and held it in. The challenger lashed out with a wide sweep of his blade, only for Syrosk to quickly snatch his sword arm by the wrist, bringing its arc to an instant halt. The Human was stunned, momentarily frozen, unable to act as the Sith Lord drove his gauntleted fist into the challenger's unprotected neck. The Human plummeted to the ground as he began grasping for air, esophagus collapsed.

Syrosk loomed over the body for a moment before walking away in silence. The gathered audience looked on with a mixture of disbelief and confusion. Writhing on the ground, the challenger continued clawing at his own throat. Through some manner of miracle or skill, the Sith used the Force, telekinetically reopening his airway. Popping his esophagus into its rightful position, the challenger struggled to lift his dazed self from the Academy steps.

"The duel… was to the death…" the challenger struggled to vocalize, still on his hands and knees.

"I really don't care," Syrosk rasped, continuing to walk away without a second glaze. The Human offered a low growl as he pushed himself up off the ground. Saber in hand, the challenger launched himself at the Sith Lord's back, ready to punish the retreating alien.

Syrosk immediately turned on his heels, and in one swift motion, drew and ignited his weapon, ready to defend against the attack. As the Sith Lord faced his opponent, guard raised, he puzzled for a moment as he saw the challenger halted mid-step, sword arm raised, as if frozen in time. There was a soft shimmering around the Human's stilled frame, and a powerful presence emanating from the gathered crowd.

Looking around, Syrosk saw a familiar figure donned in a vibrant red coat standing amongst the onlookers, hand outstretched, fingers in a clawing motion. Vai Thorel held the challenger's entire being in his hand, slowly crushing him with telekinetic force.

"You have a problem with turning your back on people, you know that?" Thorel joked, under no apparent strain keeping the challenger under his total control.

"I did not require your assistance," Syrosk rasped.

"No, I guess you didn't," Thorel admitted. With a quick turn of his wrist, Thorel snapped the challenger's neck and sent him crumbling to the ground once more, this time for good. "Duel to the death, remember?"

"A duel usually concerns only two people," Syrosk countered.

The Human released a soft chuckle. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I guess we've never been that big on rules, have we? Nice speech by the way."

Syrosk watched as Thorel dipped his hands into his coat pockets and quietly disappeared amongst the gathered audience. He was left alone, the prying eyes of bewildered Imperials and Sith falling solely unto him.

Leaving the lifeless body of the challenger and the various onlookers behind, the Sith Lord continued his walk back into the Academy. Back to his home.


	107. 4-06 Mobilizations

**Chapter Six: Mobilizations**

"Very well. Just try to avoid killing any more Sith for the time being, if you can," a regal male's voice sounded off over the holoterminal.

Syrosk offered a dutiful nod, before the dark figure's image faded from the holoprojector. The Sith Lord was left alone within his domicile as the communications ceased. His ordeals in order, the alien felt a soft wave of relief wash over him, despite the upcoming calamity that was sure to befall himself and his students. In silence, the Sith Lord pondered how to proceed, whether to relay the new information he had acquired or return to his previously interrupted meditations. The decision of what to do was eventually made for him, as the alien received a knock on his front door.

The Sith Lord turned his head at the sound, offering the curious arch of his brow. Once more an unrecognized presence was at his doorstep, only this time, it was beyond unfamiliar. It was almost nonexistent. Even the lowliest of Imperial carried an easily readable mental signature. But this visitor was unlike anything that had graced the Sith Lord's presence.

Syrosk slowly moved toward his front door, carrying a caution in his gait he had not held in quite some time. Rescinding the door, the Sith Lord found himself standing face to face with a hooded, masked figure. He had never seen the featureless visage that gazed toward him, but the black and purple robes that surrounded it were quite familiar. As the faceless person stood before him, the Sith Lord could feel something poking at his mind, an itch upon his psyche he could not scratch.

The figure raised his hands, placing them around the edges of his mask and removing it with a hearty tug. Wrenching the covering from his flesh, the Human released a heavy exhalation, his golden eyes speaking of trial and tribulation.

"Gah, I'm never going to get used to that," Lorrik softly admitted. "So. Can I come in?"

The Sith Lord provided his answer in the form of clutching his armored fist around the inquisitor's robes and dragging him inside in one swift motion. The door fell from its recess, locking the two away from the eyes and ears of the surrounding Academy. Syrosk released his grip, the Human still reeling from the forced movement.

"What do you think you are doing here?" the Sith Lord harshly rasped.

"Hello to you too," Lorrik muttered, reaffirming his stance. "I came to make certain preparations for the invasion."

"What sorts of preparations?"

"Favors and trades, mostly," Lorrik explained. "Thanks to the amount of free time and leeway you gave us during training, I managed to build a few connections. Connections I've called upon to help our cause. I've secured reinforcements for two more classrooms. So that's six instead of four now. Plus, I got Jresh a fancy new pair of gauntlets."

"Reinforcements?" Syrosk curiously rasped. "What manner of persons on Korriban could you find both willing and able to help the acolytes?"

"Well, they aren't doing it out of the kindness of their hearts," Lorrik admitted. "They're all getting something out of it."

"And who are these people?" Syrosk asked.

"It's better that you don't know," Lorrik replied.

"Is that so?" Syrosk rasped. "Is this the part where you tell me it's for my own good?"

"I suppose you'd be familiar with the concept, wouldn't you?" Lorrik warmly joked. "I wouldn't want you to take your focus off of Tash and securing us access to the invasion. Speaking of which, any update on either front?"

"We've received authorization to take part in the invasion, so long as we do not interfere with any other military operations," Syrosk explained. "We'll have no support, and no one to vouch for us if things go awry, so we'll have to make sure we stay out of the navy's crosshairs when heading planetside. As for Tash, he's yet to reveal himself. He'll stay on Dromund Kaas until the Empire is ready to strike, and the acolytes are joining him soon. To them, this is Tash delivering on his offer of a chance for greatness. They believe he's swept in at the last moment to earn them a spot in the final act of the war, rather than the fact that he's been controlling the classrooms since their inception."

"Not all of them," Lorrik stated. "The day you had us instruct the classrooms, we told them of their positions, of the truth behind the classrooms. They don't all believe Tash to be their savior."

"They don't believe him to be their doom, either," Syrosk countered. "There's been no signs of protest amongst the acolytes for their upcoming task. They all seem thrilled at the chance to prove themselves."

"Tash may not be the selfless man he'd have them believe, but they know he holds sway over their lives," Lorrik stated. "They may be mere acolytes, not fit for proper enrollment, but they believe themselves Sith. And Sith are nothing but opportunists. They're not concerned with their pasts. They're concerned with their futures. And to them, this is their only chance at a better one. It's up to us to make sure the chance Tash offers is genuine, whether he likes it or not."

"Then we will do just that," Syrosk calmly declared.

"Yeah we will," Lorrik added with a confident glee. "We should contact the others. Give them an update."

The master and his apprentices stepped deeper into the Sith Lord's domicile, stopping in front of a holoterminal. The inquisitor engaged the device, opening connections with the terminal within Yerrig's palace. With the other apprentices likely battling in the foyer, the Human had no idea how long it would take, or if anyone would even answer. To his surprise, the call was almost immediately accepted, the flickering image of Lorrik's companion emanating from the holoprojector.

"Ah, Jresh, I had expected you and the others to be training," Lorrik spoke up.

"It's actually the middle of the night here," Jresh stated, no sense of exhaustion in his voice. "Everyone else is asleep."

"Oh yeah, I guess I hadn't considered the different cycles," Lorrik admitted, lightly scratching his chin. "Wait, middle of the night? Why aren't you asleep?"

"I figured this would be our primary channel of communication, so I've been waiting in the office in case you were to call," Jresh answered. "I was worried when I felt you slip away a number of times."

"Effects of the mask," Lorrik stated, holding the artifact within his hand. "But it's allowed to move around without much fuss. Keeps me hidden, and those immune to its effects just see me as another Sith walking around the Academy.

"While it's good to see that you are doing okay, I would rather you didn't risk exposing yourself," Jresh admitted.

"That makes two of us," Syrosk declared, stepping beside his apprentice. "The longer you stay, the more people you meet with, the more likely it will be that someone will report your presence. And the guardsmen will not hesitate to kill you for being an intruder."

Believe me, I know. But as long as I knew there was something I could do here, I had to risk it," Lorrik reasoned, turning his attention back toward his companion. "And it worked. Two more classrooms will receive reinforcements."

"That's good news, I suppose," Jresh declared, maintaining his stoicism, but not dismissing his partner's efforts. "That just leaves two without added protection. Better than the previous four. Much better than the eight it would have been had we not opted to step in."

"I know, but I feel like there's more I could do," Lorrik admitted.

"There's always something more you can do, the question is whether or not there will be less of you left as a result," Jresh stated.

"He is correct," Syrosk added. "When we set our eyes on our goals, we must never ignore the roads that lead us there. Overextend yourself, and you could risk losing everything. It's the reason Tash has remained so formidable, even in his advanced age. In all the years I have known him, he has not acted without heavy consideration of the consequences. He mitigates unlike any other, never falling prey to the schemes of other Sith, never bringing harm unto himself. For decades, he's found a way to operate unchallenged."

"That all changes now," Lorrik declared.

"We can only hope," Syrosk replied. "True, you may have kept your intentions and plans from him thus far, but that does not mean he is unprepared. If anything, he has prepared for his colleagues to make a move against him. Other Sith Lords and Darths ready to steal his gathered bounty. Though I doubt he'd belief any of them brave or brash enough to strike against him while still on Coruscant. The only one he's prepared to face there is me."

"How can he be so sure you'll follow him to Coruscant? That you'd even be able to?" Lorrik asked.

"Because I told him, all those years ago," Syrosk detailed. "My vision, the one where I saw myself killed at Tash's hand, it was amongst towering buildings that stretched upwards into a burning sky. It could have been a metaphor, but I now know it was of Coruscant. And Tash knows that I believe that, just as he believes that I am still bound to see my visions through to the end. But I am no longer subservient to precognitions. I do not believe my death certain. All of which is because of you, my apprentice."

"I'm glad to hear it," Lorrik offered with a smile. "Though if you truly wished to screw with the vision you'd stay off Coruscant entirely. But I'd say your assistance is more important than trying to prove yourself right or wrong, eh?"

"The chance remains that I may yet perish at Tash's hand, but I no longer believe it inevitable. And should I still end up serving my students in death, I will gladly accept my fate, such as it were," Syrosk admitted.

"I can't say it's been an all-around pleasurable experience learning under you, master," Lorrik joked. "You gave us a chance when no one else would, and we've both thrived and suffered for it. You've pushed us off cliffs. Sent us to the darkest corners of Korriban. Wrapped us up in a conflict that's origin stretches before our birth. Lied to us, despite constantly promising us that we had reached a new point in which we'd receive all the answers we wanted. Endangered our lives, time and time again. But that doesn't mean we want you to throw your life away. You've been a good master, and the Sith should be proud to have someone like you within their ranks. Do everything you can to stay alive."

The Sith Lord locked eyes with his apprentice, sharpening his gaze as the room was consumed by silence. He hadn't expected validation that day, but he was more than welcome to receive it.

"We should be going," Syrosk declared.

"Wait a minute, 'we'?" Lorrik asked.

"That is correct," Syrosk replied. "I've done all that I can here. Soon, neither Vai nor the acolytes will be here, and the surrounding Sith grow bolder every day in their wants for intolerance. If we are to be ready for the invasion, we must organize ourselves and plan our actions. And if I am to be ready, I cannot waste any more energy fighting every Sith who wishes to challenge me within the Academy."

The inquisitor was silent, turning his head toward the still engaged holoterminal. The electronic image of the Pureblood offered a stalwart nod.

"Very well," Lorrik stated. "Jresh, we'll be there tomorrow. Make sure the others are ready."

"I will," Jresh firmly declared.

"Do you have a transport?" Lorrik asked of his master.

"I shall accompany you," Syrosk stated. "Now, as well as during the invasion. The targets are close enough that we needn't possess extraneous shuttles."

"Understood," Lorrik replied. "But, uh, we are going to need two more."

"For your 'friends' on Korriban?" Syrosk suggested.

"That's right," Lorrik warmly answered. "Can you get two ships here in time?"

"Most likely, yes," Syrosk commented.

"Good. Have one docked at the Academy's rear hangar number two. Send the other to the Valley of Forgotten Lords," Lorrik detailed.

The Sith Lord offered the heavy arch of his brow. "Do I even want to know?"

"That doesn't seem like a question I could answer," Lorrik coyly offered.

Syrosk released a heavy sigh. "Very well. I'll need to make a call."

"You do that. I'll go prep our transport," Lorrik said. "There's probably an attendant freaking out about the empty shuttle that keeps showing up."

The inquisitor offered a quick wave to his companion before leaving the room, then the domicile, slipping the black mask over his face as he did so. The master and electronic image of his other apprentice were left alone, stewing in the created silence.

"His tenacity is astounding," Syrosk muttered.

"When he wants something done, he'll see it done," Jresh stated. "For better or worse, you can't say he doesn't try."

"No I can't. It's a shame that those who try the hardest always wind up with a target on their back," Syrosk rasped. "I'll be seeing you and the others soon enough, but I need to make a call."

"Understood, master," Jresh offered with a respectful nod. "We'll await your and Lorrik's arrival."

The electronic image faded as the communication ceased. The Sith Lord tapped away at the holoterminal's control panel, sending out a message to a recent contact. After a momentary delay, the Sith from before answered, his dark figure emanating from the terminal's projector.

"Apologies for the interruption, my lord, but I'm going to need more shuttles…"

* * *

Syrosk made his way through the Academy halls, heading toward the institution's rear hangars. He carried nothing but the cloaked armor upon his back, the weapon at his side, and a small communicator within his coat pocket. As little belongings as he possessed, he had opted to leave them all behind as he departed the planet. He had no need for them. His focus now rested entirely on the future. He had given up on his home, on the Academy, on Korriban, all so that his mind could be focused solely on the task at hand.

Making his way into one of the Academy's rear hangars, Syrosk saw one of the shuttles he had gifted his apprentices, entrance ramp lowered and welcoming. Between the Sith Lord and the docked vessel, a lowly Imperial looked over the shuttle, hesitantly examining its outer frame from a safe distance. He seemed mired in a mixture of curiosity and fright, attention locked on the ship to such a degree that the sound of Syrosk's footsteps made him jump. The scrawny Human immediately sought to compose himself, turning on his heels to greet the approaching figure.

"Is there a problem with my shuttle?" Syrosk rasped as he bridged the gap between himself and the attendant.

"Your… your shuttle?" the attendant struggled to vocalize. "Oh. Uh. No sir, my lord."

"Then I trust there's nothing to keep me from departing, correct?"

"Of course not, my lord," the attendant sheepishly declared. "But… are you aware of your ship disappearing? Moving on its own perhaps?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Syrosk asked, completely deadpan.

"Uh, nothing. My mistake, sir. Have a pleasant trip, my lord."

Syrosk remained silent as he stepped aboard the docked vessel. As the entrance ramp rescinded behind him, the Sith Lord peered into the cockpit to see Lorrik sitting at the controls.

"Congratulations," Syrosk muttered. "You convinced a man that this ship is haunted."

The inquisitor released a low, frightening chuckle as his voice was filtered by the dark mask worn upon his face. Carefully, Lorrik tugged the artifact from his skin, a deep shiver running down his spine. Reaching beside his chair, the Human deposited the mask in his travelers bag before turning to face his master.

"Well, I wasn't about to dock out in the wastes and walk back to the Academy on foot, now was I?" Lorrik offered alongside another, more natural chuckle. "ALD, set a course for Ortess-3."

"At once, master," the droid pilot called out, punching in the shuttle's new destination. The vessel carefully lifted itself off its landing struts and maneuvered out of the hangar. Nothing but the open sky above it, the shuttle began its ascent through the Korriban atmosphere, ready to enter hyperspace as soon as it was beyond the planet's gravity well.

Leaving his belongings in the cockpit, the inquisitor raised himself from his seat and joined his master in the passenger bay. The Sith Lord sat patiently on one of the benches that ran alongside the shuttle's hull. The Human took his seat on the opposite bench.

"So. When was the last time you left Korriban?" Lorrik asked.

"Over two years," Syrosk quickly answered. "I've remained within the Academy for as long as you've been my student."

"Well, it's not exactly pretty where we're going, but it's no worse scenery wise, if you hold pollution on par with dust and tombs," Lorrik joked.

"This planet… it was your home before the Academy, correct?"

"That's right. Oh! This means you get to meet my parents!" Lorrik exuberantly declared. The Sith Lord remained silent, continuing to cast his stoic, unbroken stare at the apprentice.

As the shuttle passed beyond the threshold of Korriban's atmosphere, it continued forward into the dark void of space. Readying its hyperdrive, the vessel finalized its destination coordinates before streaking across the stars in flash.

* * *

Standing outside the palace entrance, the seven apprentices of Lord Syrosk patiently waited as the shuttle touched down amongst its three brethren. Lorrik and the Sith Lord emerged from the ship and made their way toward the others. The Human was greeted personally by his companion placing a gentle hand upon his shoulder. The inquisitor offered an appreciative smile, more than joyed to be back in the presence of his partner and his compatriots. Traveler's bag strapped to his back, the Human stepped inside the palace, the Sith Lord still receiving a round of subtle nods and bows.

The nine Sith moved, as part of a single unit, into the office of the deceased slave master, eager to discuss the finer points of their plan.

"I'll skip the pleasantries," Syrosk rasped. "The invasion will proceed in a few short days. I do not know the precise timing and logistics of the operation at-large, but I've managed to secure us access to the battle. We will soon move to a staging area, from which we will follow a supplied hyperspace route when we are cleared to enter the battle. We will be moving in behind Tash and the acolytes, so we'll have to make up lost time any way we can. His classrooms are larger, meaning that once they're planetside, it will take time for them to unload and make their way to their objectives. We will arrive afterwards, but will retain superior mobility."

"To do that we need to know their targets," Isorr bluntly declared.

"Indeed," Syrosk quickly replied. Looking around, the Sith Lord began examining his surroundings, panning his gaze over the various electronics of the office. "Lorrik. Do any of the terminals connect to the Holonet?"

The Human nodded, pointing to one of the computers beside the holocommunicator. The Sith Lord went to work tapping away at the device, staring at the small screen that accompanied it. Soon, an image flickered to life from the holoterminal's projector. Rather than a person, a three-dimensional map showed up, detailing a large area of an ecumenopolis' surface.

"This is a commercial map of Coruscant," Syrosk explained. "I've managed to pull the coordinates of the vaults from one of Tash's instructors within the Academy. There's eleven targets in all, which is curious. Assuming one for Tash and Vai, and one for each of the classrooms, that leaves an extra one."

"That one belongs to my father, Tash's other apprentice," Isorr nonchalantly declared. The Sith Lord offered the befuddled arch of his brow, before panning his gaze amongst the other students. Their stoic faces revealed that they knew and were understanding of the relation.

"I see," Syrosk muttered. "So. Eleven targets. Eight in the hands of the acolytes. Six receiving additional support from us."

"Six?" Arlia asked.

"Lorrik attained additional forces on Korriban," Syrosk explained.

"Do we know who's hitting which vaults?" Kar'ai asked.

"We know which eight the students are targeting," Syrosk answered. "The remaining three could belong to either Tash or his apprentices."

"You're going to try and intercept Tash, right?" Arlia asked. "How are you going to do that if you don't know where he is?"

"I'll be able to sense him as soon as we're planetside," Syrosk admitted. "I felt his presence the second he stepped foot on Korriban. With concentration, I'll be able to find him even in the middle of an invasion."

"If you say so," Arlia replied. "How do we decide where we're heading?"

"We should decide first who will have to go without reinforcements," Lorrik stated. "My former classmates are skilled, and they've been aware of Tash's involvement in the classrooms ever since Jresh and I visited them. Even though they're going along with the plan, I know they've been preparing."

"Yeah, but they're inquisitors, not warriors," Arlia countered.

"Inquisitors who were informed of their inevitable betrayal," Lorrik explained. "If there's anyone with a desire to survive and overcome, it's them."

"When we last visited them, my class seemed rather competent, considering the circumstances," Isorr offered. "They'd fare no worse than the others if left to themselves."

"Anyone else?" Lorrik asked.

"My class seem like they could use the help, going by our last visit," Kar'ai stated. Looking around, the Human saw Vurt offer the curt shake of his head, silently speaking ill of his former class as well.

"Alright," Lorrik began, scratching his chin. "Syrosk, which vaults are the acolytes targeting?"

The Sith Lord looked over the map, processing the information he had gleaned from his interrogation. "Vaults three through ten. Isorr's class is striking number four. Yours is striking number seven."

"Wait, so that means Tash and his apprentices are hitting one, two, and eleven?" Arlia asked.

"Yes, but I don't know which belongs to whom," Syrosk admitted.

"Still, an odd spread," Arlia replied.

"Number eleven is furthest from the rest," Syrosk said. "Tash may be keeping his second apprentice away from himself and the others."

"Or maybe, he's targeting a specific vault for himself," Lorrik explained. "If he knew he was hitting that vault, the rest might just be assigned sequentially. One and two go to apprentices. Three through ten go to acolytes."

"Why would he want that one?" Kar'ai asked. "Is he trying to keep himself at a distance? Is that one safer than the rest?"

"If Tash was able to learn of these vaults, and spend all this effort trying to crack them open, it stands to reason he knows what's inside them," Lorrik declared.

"You're suggesting he's after that particular vault's contents?" Jresh asked.

"Attacking all the vaults simultaneously means none of them can receive reinforcements from the others," Lorrik stated. "He could attack any of the vaults and receive the same resistance. He chose that one for himself. All things equal on the outside, it must be what's inside."

"These vaults hold dark side and Sith artifacts, right?" Ryloh asked. "Is Tash interested in a particular one?"

"Tash has never been one for items and trinkets," Syrosk declared. "His relation with his master and his distaste for Seers left a lasting impression. It's why he rarely deals with the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge unless absolutely necessary."

"Considering the value of a cache this large, this might count as absolutely necessary," Lorrik explained. "Tash's apprentices believe that taking those vaults would be enough to elevate the acolytes to being true Sith. Imagine all that prestige, all that power, focused on a single individual, instead of spread out amongst scores of acolytes."

"He's already a Darth," Kar'ai stated. "How much higher can he go?"

"There's always room for ascension," Syrosk declared.

"And it's our duty to see it delivered to those acolytes," Lorrik stated. "They're going to take those vaults. They're going to get credit for it. They're going to earn the respect of the Sith Empire, regardless of their backgrounds."

"As will we, right?" Arlia asked.

"That's right," Lorrik replied. "Time to show everyone what a bunch of impurities and outcasts can really do."

The apprentices looked to one another, each baring a confident, self-assured expression. It was their time. Time to show the Empire that they were proper Sith. That the only thing running through their vein was pure, unfiltered potential.

"So, once we have our targets, what do we do?" Isorr asked.

"We go to war."


	108. 4-07 Invasions

**Chapter Seven: Invasions**

The time had come. A peace conference was underway on Alderaan, the Empire calling on the Republic to discuss an end to the war. It was to be a ruse, the negotiations led by Darth Baras serving only to lull the Republic into a false sense of security. Peace was the last thing on any Sith's mind that day.

The citizens of Coruscant went about their daily lives without a second thought, unaware of the calamity that was to befall them. Whilst the bulk of the Imperial invasion force waited past the system's threshold, a strike team led by Darth Malgus had made their move. The Jedi were spread out amongst the galaxy, leaving minimal resistance as the Sith struck the Coruscanti Temple. A fraction of the destruction that was to come, the strike team succeeded in taking their objective, blazing a path of victory that resulting in the disruption of the planet's defense grid.

Under the command of Darth Angral, a fleet of Imperial dreadnoughts and warships entered the space surrounding the ecumenopolis. The ships were hailed by one of the Republic capital's Orbital Security Stations, which received a response in the form of the ships' main batteries blasting the station into space debris. The fleet began its descent through the planet's atmosphere, priming itself for the ensuing bombardment. The lower laser cannons of the dreadnoughts began unleashing their rain of fire and destruction upon the Senate and Temple districts.

Amidst the bombardment, a number of shuttles and transports departed the hangars of the capital ships, making their way to the surface below. Whilst most carried Imperial troopers, cannon-fodder to absorb the brunt of the defenders' retaliations, a small detachment of shuttles broke from the rank of their fellows. Transports capable of holding a dozen beings within their hulls made their way toward specific towers not yet burdened with the torrential downpour of cannon fire.

Imperial fighters patrolled the skies, shooting down the errant airspeeder that had not yet fled from the zone of battle. As the shuttles pressed themselves further and further, they found themselves without the company of other starships, slipping beyond the areas assaulted by warships and bombers. The transports moved through the Coruscant skyline, nimbly maneuvering around the kilometer high towers and buildings thanks to their trained pilots.

As each shuttle neared its target, the transports broke free from one another, until each of them proceeded by their lonesome. The majority of the planet's occupants had already begun their flock to the lower reaches of the cityscape, finding sanctuary from the invading forces in the depths of the ecumenopolis. One of the shuttles touched down on a vacated landing pad attached to a nondescript skyscraper. There was nothing to signify their targets other than the instructions in their heads. As the shuttle's entrance ramp lowered, a number of acolytes stepped out with haste. A young Human male pushed himself to the front of the group. His body encased in the same standard issue armor as his classmates, his hand gripping the same model lightsaber, the Human urged his fellows forward.

"Come on! Let's go!" Ornell shouted as he darted across the landing pad and into the tower's interior, followed by the other acolytes of Lorrik's former classroom. The acolytes disappearing into the urban structure, their shuttle lifted itself from its landing struts and began making its way back to its hangar aboard one of the invading capital ships.

* * *

Above Coruscant, amidst the starry void of space, six shuttle dropped into realspace amongst the deafened calamity that surrounding the Republic capital. Imperial ships hounded the Republic's orbital defenders and installations. Laser cannon bolts streaked across the vacuum of space, igniting the various defense and communications satellites in a brief plume of fire that would be quickly snuffed out, leaving only drifting wreckage in its place.

The six shuttles headed toward the planet's surface, dodging the cannon fire and naval forces that stood in their path. Flying around capital ships and dreadnoughts, the mechanical pilots of the vessels expertly circumvented the plethora of scrap and debris the now orbited the planet.

Within one of the shuttles, Jresh sat in the co-pilot's chair, monitoring various systems as Lorrik and Syrosk stood behind him, gazes affixed the scene unfolding beyond the transport's viewports. It was a sight unlike any either figure had seen before. Even the Sith Lord had not witnessed the collective might of the Sith Empire so focused on a single target. As the shuttle drew ever closer to the planet's surface, Syrosk calmed his mind amongst the enveloping chaos, focusing his thoughts and seeking his target.

The transports slipped through the ecumenopolis' atmosphere, descending amongst the smoke and fire that littered the open skies. The Imperial Navy continued its assault on the towers of the Senate and Temple district, fielding countless squads and companies of soldiers and Mandalorians to the ground below. The Republic was mounting its response, troopers and Jedi rising up to meet the invaders, but suffering under the full force of the oppressive fleet. But those beyond the gaze of dreadnoughts and warships would find themselves less inhibited.

The shuttles carrying the apprentices and their allies pressed forward, maneuvering around the crumbling towers of Coruscant. They each had their targets. They each had their assigned group of students to protect. They each had their goal, and the skill and confidence to see it through. But while the apprentices had their specified destinations, their master was forced to choose his. The Sith Lord reached out with his mind, searching for his rival. Sifting through the countless thoughts and presences of soldiers and civilians, Imperial invaders and Republic denizens, he could sense Tash, shining as a beacon amidst the calamity.

"Tash is heading for the eleventh vault," Syrosk stoically declared.

"Alright, take us there," Lorrik quickly shot to the pilot. Jresh continued to monitor the shuttle's console as the droid diverting the shuttle's course toward the new objective. "We'll make a brief landing then continue toward our assigned target."

"No need," Syrosk defiantly stated. "Just open the shuttle's hatch and get me as close as possible."

The pilot turned its metallic head for clarification, receiving a firm nod from its copilot. The shuttle maintained its speed as it neared its destination, opening its hatch and lowering its entrance ramp mid-flight. The Sith Lord calmly stepped from the cockpit and into the cacophonous passenger bay as the wind passed over the vessel's entrance. Gripping the side of the hull, Syrosk watched the cityscape pass beneath him, the fires fading and disappearing as they moved beyond the zone of invasion.

Lorrik called out to his master, telling him they were almost there. Without another word, the Sith Lord leapt from the cruising vessel as it passed over a vacant landing pad, lightsaber ignited, his one and only target resting firmly in his mind.

The transport pulled away as Syrosk landed, armored feet impacting against the metallic surface with a resounding thud. Standing upright, the Sith Lord took a deep breath before darting across the landing pad, venturing into the tower it was connected to.

Jresh shot the droid a quick look, silently urging it to retract the shuttle's entrance ramp. Lorrik eased himself forward, taking a position directly behind his companion. "This is it. Either we succeed or we fail."

"When has there ever been a third option?" Jresh stoically asked, eyes still affixed to the console in front of him.

"I guess you've got a point," Lorrik muttered, still not entirely satisfied with the outlook. "But it's not just our lives at stake. It's those of dozens and dozens of acolytes."

"Don't worry. We'll protect them," Jresh confidently stated.

"Are we ready to face the Jedi?"

"Ready and able."

"Alright, then let's just-"

The shuttle violently shook as an explosion rocked the vessel's outer hull. An errant bolt of energy impacted against the transport's bow, cracking open the shuttle's frame, exposing the right half of the cockpit to the open air of Coruscant. The Pureblood and Human were thrown to the floor as the shuttle's mechanical pilot was turned to scrap. Its front dipping, Lorrik slid across the floor, swept up in the current that passed over cockpit's gaping wound. The remaining bits and pieces of the droid passed through the shattered hull, falling to the surface below alongside various bits and pieces of metal and debris.

Clawing at the edge of the ship, the inquisitor kept himself pressed against the floor as the warrior dragged himself back into his seat. Taking direct control of the shuttle, the Pureblood did as best as he could leveling out the vessel, but the damage was done. The transport couldn't stay airborne, and began its slow, inevitable descent. Tugging at the controls, Jresh brought the shuttle down amidst an outcropping attached to the skyscraper adjacent to the pair's target. The downed shuttle crashed amongst the abandoned ledge, skidding across the metallic surface, coming to a stop only after embedding itself in the tower walls.

Whilst one shuttle had fallen, the others were still on course. The transports carrying the pairs of apprentices and their allies touched down in the nearest landing zones to their targets. The acolytes were already on the ground, about to meet the resistance of the vault guards head on. The reinforcements urged themselves forward, ready to meet whatever challenges awaited them, ready to do all they could to make sure they and the acolytes walked away with their lives in their hands.

Vault One. Within the bland architecture of the Republic capital, the first safehouse stood guarded by a pair of Jedi and a squad of the planet's domestic security force. The forces stood gathered in front of a reinforced door at the end of a vast, empty chamber. The various beige and brown materials that made up the quiet area were infinitely preferable to the charred and engulfed buildings of other districts.

The Jedi were garbed in armored robes, conservative layers of cloth enwrapping hardened plates beneath. The security forces wore light protection, thick trousers and jackets beneath tactical bandoliers featuring holstered blasters.

"We're under attack," one of the Jedi curtly spoke to his fellows. "The Empire is attacking the Temple and Senate, we have to help them!"

"The Empire is attacking the entire planet," the other Jedi countered. "If we leave our posts, we're abandoning the area to the Sith."

"Sirs, can we move the contents of the vault elsewhere?" the leader of the security force asked.

"There's nowhere to move them to," the first Jedi declared.

"Then we must defend this area," the second Jedi replied.

"By standing around? We need to move outside, take the fight to the-"

The Jedi was interrupted by the echoing footsteps emanating from the opposite end of the chamber. From the shadowed halls beyond, a lone figure emerged, hands folded behind his back, casually making his way toward the group. The Human's gait was utterly calm, the heels of his feet kicking up the tail of his vibrant red coat with each step.

The two Jedi drew their sabers, directing their tips toward the lightly-armored stranger as the security force unholstered their pistols. Taking careful aim, the barrels of eight blasters pointed toward the approaching Sith.

"Halt! Identify yourself!" one of the Jedi called out. The stranger remained silent as he continued his trek across the empty chamber, almost warm in his unfaltering calm. "I said halt! This is your final warning!"

The trespasser had already passed the chamber's midpoint, near to the point the defenders could see the adult Human's handsome, smiling face. He continued to walk, unimpeded by the Jedi's words, less than ten meters between himself and the vault protectors. The unsettling sight chilled one of the security guards to the core, causing him to release an errant bolt from his blaster.

In one swift motion, the stranger drew and ignited the crimson blade of his lightsaber, raising it to intercept in the blink of an eye. The bolt of energy connected with the blade, reflecting back at the attacker with utmost precision, impacting against the guard's chest. The round pierced the light armoring of the security guard, sending him crumbling to the ground.

His comrades released an angered torrent of blaster fire, which the Sith expertly sidestepped and reflected. The security force dropped, one by one, until the Jedi ordered a ceasefire. The two remaining shooters lowered their weapons, standing by as the pair of Jedi leapt forward. The guardians drew their sabers, two blue beams of energy ready to lash out against the trespasser. The Sith glided across the chamber floor, dodging the first round of blows. The Jedi moved in unison, attacking the Sith with graceful martial prowess. A normal Sith would have buckled under the combined assault of the Jedi Knights, but they were not facing a normal Sith.

The Sith moved without a single misstep, not a single wasted movement. Each strike that came his way was blocked and parried with minimal effort. He was strong. He was fast. He was unbeatable. The first Jedi fell as the tip of the Sith's blade pierced his guard, digging just deep enough into the Knight's chest so as to reach his heart. The second fell soon after, hitting the ground in two pieces after being bisected at the waist.

The two remaining guards watched the invader calmly dust himself off without displaying a single sign of exhaustion. Taking a single step toward the vault, the officers raised their blasters only to find themselves struggling to breath. Clutching at their necks, the men's legs grew weak as they slumped to the floor. Writhing on the ground, the last of the defenders released their last breaths as all motion stopped.

Standing in front of the vast, reinforced door, Thorel took a deep breath before releasing a calm, collected exhalation. Saber in hand, the Sith carefully began pushing his the blade into the vault door, molten metal dripping from the insertion point.

Vault Two. The chamber in front of the second safehouse was embroiled in battle, consumed by the cacophonous pings of blaster bolts leaving their barrels and impacting against the nearby walls. A black figure darted back and forth across the chamber as the security forces struggled to find their target. The shadowed figure swung his red blade as he glided across the floor, intercepting the occasional blaster bolt as the rest flew over his head. The bolts were carelessly flung back toward their source, but only occasionally managed to find a target. Despite his lateral movement, the trespasser slowly advanced across the chamber, closing the distance between himself and the vault.

The invader was garbed head to toe in black armored plates, his face concealed by a helmet, through the top of which a crown of horns emerged. When half the defenders fell, the Zabrak charged forward, leaping and landing amongst the vault security. The warrior cut down the guards nearest him as the two Jedi assigned to the area readied their weapons.

A blaster bolt impacted against the armored intruder's back, prompting him to release a hushed yelp from beneath his encompassing helmet. The injury only drove the warrior into a rage, causing him to lash out at the remaining defenders. The invader's attacks were wild, driven by an internal strength beyond measure. Batting away the blades of the Jedi, Ikton made short work of them with a series of overpowering blows.

Vault Three. Taking defensive positions near the reinforced vault door, the Jedi directed the security forces to open fire across the chamber. The flurry of blaster bolts rang out toward the room's entrance, a number of intruders ducking back into the safety of the connecting hallway. One lone acolyte stood his ground, attempting to reflect the onslaught of blaster fire, only to succumb to the defender's attacks.

As the continuing assault rang out in the adjacent chamber, the acolytes hugged the walls, waiting for some break in the attack. But it would not come, as the bolts continued to fly by and impact against nearby walls. As the invaders struggled to formulate a plan, they heard an echoing voice emanating from the halls behind them. A strong, forceful, female voice.

"Clear a path!"

The acolytes turned toward the source of the voice to see a pale-skinned warrior sprinting down the hallway, a male Twi'lek in her wake. The Rattataki plunged herself headfirst into the opposing blaster fire, sabers ignited, guard raised. The warrior pushed past the wave of suppressing fire, crossing the chamber's midpoint before the defenders even had a chance to react. Two of the guards were felled by reflected blaster fire, and the rest of them found their blasters ripped from their hands. Their attention focused on the pale invader, they had not noticed the wide, sweeping motions of the robed Twi'lek's hands. The loosed weapons slid across the floor, coming to a stop on the opposite side of the chamber.

Peeking their heads in, the acolytes saw the pair making headway amidst the defenders, their weapons wrested from their hands. Not a moment later, the acolytes began to pour in, sabers raised and ignited, their cries of war echoing throughout the chamber. They charged across the room to join Kar'ai and Ryloh in taking the vault.

Vault Four. A pair of intruders stood in the center of the safehouse chamber, the defenders' eyes and weapons focused on the two trespassers. The invaders were identical in appearance, sharing the same height, build, and garb. Armor procured from the standard military channels covered the two figures from head to toe. Blacks, grays, and reds, arranged in standardized form. Though the pair were identical in appearance, they were disparate in armament. From one another. From their contemporaries. One carried a metallic pole equal to its wielder in height. The other, a rod roughly the length of a dual-bladed saberstaff.

"This is the very opposite of laying low," one of the intruders muttered in a dull, pacified tone.

"When Tash left, so did our jobs," the other intruder replied, almost matching the other's tone exactly. "This'll let us choose who we're transferred to."

"Shoot low, as we always say," the first muttered.

An approaching rumble emerged from the connecting hallways as a sizable group made their way toward the chamber.

"Better late than never I suppose," the second muttered. "Almost thought they'd gotten lost."

As the group of acolytes neared the chamber entrance, one of the two men tapped the bottom of his pole against the floor, an energized beam emanating from its other tip. The other man gripped his weapon in both hands, a single blade of energy emerging from its emitter, extending beyond the length of an ordinary lightsaber. The quartermaster directed the polearm toward the enemy line, whilst the weapons master's hands tightened around his two-handed lightsaber.

Vault Five. The group of acolytes were urged forward by a Zabrak warrior barking the call for war as the group advanced in unison. The defenders released a volley of blaster fire toward the advancing trespassers, some finding their mark, some finding their bolts reflected back at them, and a select few finding their weapons explode in their hands after a bolt of electricity coursed through their energy cells. Slinking amidst the charging invaders was a female Twi'lek, lightning arcing between her fingertips.

The Jedi set their sights on the group's supposed leader, lifting their blades against the armored Zabrak. The pair attacked together, their strikes rattling the warrior's guard. The countless hours spent combating his allies prepared him for even the toughest opponents, but the Knights were not without their skill. And the combined efforts of two Jedi seeking to end his life proved a challenge we was not fully prepared for.

But as the attackers would not relent, neither would he. The Zabrak defended the blows as best as he could, but as he clashed sabers with one of the Jedi, the other was free to bring his weapon down upon the distracted foe. Just before the blue blade could connect, however, it was interceded by one of a vibrant purple. The warrior looked to see his partner standing at his side, holding off the second Jedi as the acolytes dealt with the remaining guardsmen.

The two shared a quick look and a determined nod, before pushing away their attackers and preparing attacks of their own. Isorr and Arlia stood back to back, sabers raised, ready to strike.

Vault Six. The defenders guarding the safehouse puzzled with how to proceed. There was a planet-wide invasion underway and the other vaults were under siege. The Jedi and security officers struggled with the decision to remain at their post or to abandon it in favor of other ventures. As the figures bickered and argued over duty and patriotism, their dispute was culled at the sound of footsteps echoing from the neighboring halls. Slow, patient footsteps. The guardsmen readied themselves for whatever threat might emerge, setting their sights on the dark void of the connecting passage. The corridor was cloaked in shadows, almost supernaturally so. Emerging from the cloak of darkness was a long figure, who still wore the shadows in the form of pitch black hooded robes that enwrapped his body. The dark figure continued his slow trek across the chamber, fingers interlocked in front of him, face concealed within the black void beneath his hood.

"Don't take another step," one of the Jedi called out.

A low chortle emerged from the hooded figure, pounding the senses of the defenders. "Is that any way to welcome home a lost Jedi?"

The defenders stood in confusion, keeping their gazes focused entirely on the lone, now stationary figure. Training their weapons on the trespasser, they expected something to occur, but instead found the figure silent and stilled. But before any of them could speak out, a small clump of rubble struck one of the officer's shoulders from above.

Looking up at the high ceiling, the officer saw the silhouette of a massive humanoid lurking above, claws dug into the metallic surface. Releasing its vicelike grip, the beast descended upon the defenders, lashing out with sharp, blackened claws. The first invader simply watched in silence as the monster decimated the forces, ending each officers' life with a single swipe of its hands.

The Jedi lashed out with their sabers, only to find their strikes unable to cut through the beast's claws. Batting the blades away, the red-skinned monster took hold of one of the Jedi's scalps, tossing and slamming him into the ground like a ragdoll. The other looked to the unwavering beast, frozen with fright. With a wide swing of its arm, the monster sent the remaining Jedi's weapon flying from his hand. The other claw grasped around the defender's neck, lifting him off the ground as he struggled to breath.

Only now did the dark figure break his stilled stance, slowly stepping toward the helpless Jedi. Fighting through the exhaustion and pain, the last of the defenders opened his eyes to see the figure staring at him from beneath his veiled visage. The trespasser carefully took hold of his hood and lowered it, revealing the shattered remains of his head. The entirety of the back of his skull was missing, and what remained of his flesh was pale and decomposing. The last thing the Jedi saw was the walking cadaver force a smile through his cracked lips.

Vault Seven. The defenders found themselves under attack by a group of invaders, amongst them a towering Trandoshan and an emotionless Nikto. The invaders washed over the Jedi and security officers like a tidal wave, spreading out laterally to overwhelm the defenders with pure might. The acolytes preyed upon the ill-equipped guardsmen, whilst the two figures who stood apart from their fellows set their sharpened eyes upon the pair of Jedi. The two Knights saw the challenge and met it head on. Drawing not one saber each but two, the sentinels were determined to destroy the foes that had invaded their realm.

The Jedi and Sith marched toward one another, clashing blades and shaking the very ground beneath them as the force of each blow was absorbed and channeled through the battlers' feet. The Trandoshan swung his dual dueling swords against the sentinel's pair of yellow blades, the Sith weapons enduring the immense heat of the sabers' plasma. The exchange of blades was a swirling flurry of might and skill as the combatants simultaneously maintained the offensive whilst preserving their defenses.

The Nikto faced his opponent, half as equipped in the blade department, but more than capable of making up for the fact with expert dueling skills. The invader kept a firm grip on his single saber, monitoring his opponent's strikes, studying him in the midst of battle, learning every strength and weakness.

The battle proceeded, the acolytes continuing to deal with the security forces whilst the other two engaged the skilled sentinels. The Trandoshan and his opponent proved themselves equally skilled, neither able to gain significant ground or advantage. Their strikes were continuous and endless, their guard unbreakable and untiring. But the Trandoshan wasn't content with being an equal. He would slay his prey by any means necessary.

Ready to end the bout in an instant, the Trandoshan warrior swung wide with one of his blades. The Jedi moved to intercept, raising one of his blade upright and in the path of the strike. But he underestimated the warrior's reach. Instead of blocking the blade, the lightsaber cut effortlessly through the Trandoshan's unprotected forearm. But the momentum in the severed hand meant the strike proceeded without interruption, effortlessly slashing through flesh and bone as the blade made a clean cut from ear to ear.

As the Jedi's body slumped to the ground, the Trandoshan moved to where his body part had landed, the severed hand still tightly gripping the hilt of his other sword. The warrior kicked his own hand free from the blade and bent over to pick up the weapon. With only a single hand, the Trandoshan was forced to hold the second blade in his teeth. Jaws clenched around the hilt of the black sword, the warrior once more had his two blades and did not hesitate to return to the fray.

Vaults Eight, Nine, and Ten. The next three vaults were forced to go without reinforcements. The eighth safehouse found itself sundered by a well-organized group of acolytes, a pair of Humans leading the invaders with great proficiency. Ornell and Jora divided their forces evenly amongst the defenders, striking out with poise and efficiency. The group would not be without casualties, but they would not suffer defeat.

The ninth safehouse shared a similar fate as the eighth's as the former classmates of Isorr sought to secure the contents of the vault. Instead of the calculated precision carried out by the inquisitors, the group of warriors charged forward guided only by righteous fury and unfiltered determination. The acolytes attacked in unison, not as well-trained soldiers but as a motley gang of misfits that knew the price of failure. They possessed a confidence and tenacity beyond mere pride, capable of fueling their actions and driving them forward.

The tenth safehouse found themselves in more dire circumstances. The class of inquisitors did not possess the bolstered training and preparation of Lorrik's former classroom, and neither did they receive the additional aid Lorrik had sought to provide them. Their protectors elsewhere, the group of acolytes progress was halted, pinned down by the wall of blaster fire supplied by the security forces. They knew nothing of the progress the other classrooms had made in securing their vaults. They knew nothing of the protection afforded to the others. They knew nothing of the absent reinforcements meant to prevent the very situation they found themselves in.

Vault Eleven. In a grandiose chamber not dissimilar to the ten before it, a number of defenders lay motionless upon the ground, scattered about the empty chamber. Severed limbs and seared torsos littered the area around the vault's reinforced door, only a single figure remaining standing. The Human was tall, powerful, garbed in the armored plates of a decorated lord of war. Heavy boots, gauntlets, and pauldrons reinforced an armorweave bodysuit, a dark cape hovering its tail just above the stained flooring.

Tash looked to the vault's door, marveling in its simplicity. A smile graced the Darth's gracefully aged visage. But before he could partake in his acquired bounty, he felt a powerful presence at the opposite end of the chamber. Turning around, the Human saw a familiar face step into the large room from the connecting hallway. The alien Sith Lord's uncovered head possessed two long, down-curved horns emanating from the sides of his cranium, the tips of which came to an end beneath his chin.

The Sith Lord possessed his usual garb of battle-scarred armor plating beset by a heavy black cloak. He looked to Tash with a deadly stare, eyes sharpened, mouth barely containing the want for a snarl.

"Syrosk," Tash said from across the chamber. "I almost thought you wouldn't make it."


	109. 4-08 Fates

**Chapter Eight: Fates**

The chamber of the eleventh vault was quiet, stilled, as the two powerful figures stared one another down. They stood opposite one another, so near and yet so far. They had spent much of the last decade stars apart, but never out of touch, never beyond the other's sights, never isolated, as much as one would like the other to think. The two Sith tightly gripped the ignited lightsabers in their hands, beams of crimson softly humming at their sides.

"Well, what are you waiting for Syrosk?" Tash calmly asked of his opponent, the entire length of the chamber remaining between the two combatants. The alien remained silent, continuing to cast his sharpened gaze at the unsettlingly warm Darth. The Human carried an uncompromising pride, a snide sense of superiority in every fiber of his being. "Could it be you know exactly how this is going to end?"

"If I did, would that mean I was right all those years ago?" Syrosk rasped, breaking his silence. The Darth offered the stern arch of his brow, his warm countenance giving way to a curt stoicism. Tash looked to the alien with a dulled expression, unwilling to give Syrosk the satisfaction of emoting.

The Human took his first step away from the vault. Then another. Then another. Syrosk broke his stilled stance as well, slowly closing the gap between the two as they simultaneously made their way to the center of the chamber. The pair of Sith came to a stop just out of reach of one another, leaving a safe buffer between them as they continued their exchange of looks and stares.

"After all this time, of all the things you could have chosen to hang on to, you decided it best to continue opposing me," Tash stated, maintaining his sense of eloquence, but abandoning all pretense of cordiality.

"Someone had to," Syrosk replied.

"No. Someone really didn't," Tash countered. "You could have stayed away. You may have faded into obscurity, but you'd still have your life."

"The life I was left was no life," Syrosk rasped.

"We all have to make do with the hand we're dealt," Tash declared.

"It's not so easy for people like me and the acolytes to accept what we're given."

"It isn't about acceptance. It's about making the best of what you're given. Not giving up because you had some vision."

"Well you're in luck," Syrosk stated, raising his weapon. "Because I have no intention of giving up. I'll not permit you to succeed here, Tash."

"I don't think you have much say in the matter," Tash replied, raising his own weapon.

"I shall speak regardless, until I draw my last breath," Syrosk declared.

"Alright. Let's talk."

Tash pushed his feet off the ground, gliding along the floor toward his opponent, readying a powerful strike. Syrosk reaffirmed his stance, raising his guard to meet the charging Darth.

Tash swung wide with an equal balance of speed and power, his blade clashing with his opponent's. The entire chamber shook as the two collided, as did the defender's arm. The blow was mere posturing, a strike delivered not to harm but to display the raw strength behind it. The Human was battle-hardened. For all his schemes and manipulations, he was a more than accomplished combatant, earning the title of Darth on the battlefield. Every motion was fueled by the Force, every muscle fiber pulsing with energy. Beneath Tash's aged, stoic visage, was a passion that carried him through the war, drove him forward, allowed him to persist where others would falter. And all of this was communicated in a single blow. It was a reminder, so that Syrosk might not die in ignorance.

* * *

There were sparks amidst the shattered and torn consoles of the downed shuttle. The transport's system were nonfunctioning, lifeless aside from the repeated siren needlessly informing its passengers of the befallen catastrophe. In the half of the cockpit not shredded and exposed to the open, Jresh slumped forward in his co-pilot's chair.

There was a low groan as the Pureblood stirred, pushing himself up from the dashboard. Wiping the blood from his forehead, the armored warrior immediately began surveying his surroundings. Frantically he looked about the cockpit for his companion, only to find himself alone. Jresh quickly began searching for his partner, poking his head into the passenger bay with no evidence of injury in his movements. Looking through the giant hole in the right half of the cockpit, the warrior saw the ship had embedded itself into one of Coruscant's numerous skyscrapers.

Beyond the chunk of missing shuttle was the interior of a commercial building, an office that had already been abandoned. Numerous desks and personal data terminals were pushed away and overturned in the invaded room. Resting amongst them was a lone robed figure lying prone upon the office floor.

Jresh immediately leapt from the disabled shuttle, passing through the metallic wound and rushing to his companion's side. Placing a gauntleted hand on his partner, the warrior was greeted with the irritated groans of the inquisitor. Relief washed over the Pureblood. They were both alive, and neither seemed to have sustained any significant injury. Taking hold of Lorrik's hand, Jresh carefully lifted his companion from the floor. The two surveyed their surroundings, taking note of the important details.

"We crashed," Lorrik nonchalantly declared.

"I noticed," Jresh stoically replied.

"This is the wrong building," Lorrik added.

"We had almost arrived. This tower is likely adjacent to our target," Jresh explained.

"Then we better get moving," Lorrik stated, taking the first steps deeper into the building.

Jresh noticed his partner favoring a leg as he walked, but sensed no pain in the inquisitor's mind. He moved forward with an unwavering resolve, unwilling to see their progress halted. The warrior moved to his companion's side, relishing in his confidence, offering his own so that they might sate each other.

* * *

Within the large chamber of the eleventh vault, Tash and Syrosk were embroiled in a tempestuous duel. Each strike, each swing of the blade, seeped in the power of the Force. Decades upon decades spent honing their craft provided the Sith with a level of skill reserved for the greatest of their Order.

Tash controlled the flow of battle, lashing out alongside advancing steps whilst Syrosk remained on the defensive. The time for subtle maneuvering had long since passed. Now was the time for unbridled combat. Neither was content with the other's presence, seeking only to render the them as lifeless as the Republic defenders strewn about the chamber.

Seeing himself driven into a corner, the alien Sith Lord stood his ground as the Darth brought his saber down. The two connected, holding firm, blades sparking as they maintained contact with one another. The Sith pushed against one another, teeth gritted, eyes sharpened, but neither would yield.

"What are you hoping to accomplish here, Syrosk?" Tash asked, not breaking away from the clash.

"I'm taking my students back," Syrosk rasped, putting the entirety of his weight behind his lightsaber. The two continued to cross swords, energy flashing between them.

"As always, you act beyond your capabilities," Tash countered. The alien pressed forward, not with his weapon, but with his skull. Driving his cranium forward, Syrosk delivered a swift headbutt to his opponent, the tip of his right horn being clipped by the crossed blades between them.

The Human reeled from the first direct blow of the duel, clutching at his nose as he stumbled back. Before he could press the advantage, Syrosk felt an overwhelming wave of telekinetic energy wash over him. The shockwave emanating from Tash's outstretched palm crashed against him, sending the alien sliding backward as he struggled to keep his feet firmly planted upon the ground. As his knees scraped against the metallic flooring, Syrosk finally came to a halt with a few added meters between himself and his opponent. He could see the severed tip of his horn on the ground in front of him, as well as the bloodied face of Tash.

The Darth released a blunt snarl as a stream of crimson lightly poured from his nostrils. "They were never your students, Syrosk. I control them! I control their lives! If not for me, you and every one of them would be dead!"

"Is this the point where I'm supposed to thank you?" Syrosk rasped, lifting himself from his knee.

"I'd never expect you to understand. After all these years, you remain just as blind as always. I tried to save you. From your master. From the other Sith. And you rewarded me with nonsense and slander."

"All you've ever wanted was control," Syrosk countered. "I had served my purpose. Gathered you acolytes to use as you saw fit. After that, you had no problem casting me aside. I simply provided you a means to justify it to your apprentice."

"Vai recognized your willingness to surrender yourself to your visions himself," Tash declared. "I have never been dishonest with him."

"Then why does he believe this operation's intent is to benefit the acolytes?" Syrosk asked. Tash offered the stern arch of his brow toward the alien. "That's right. I've conversed with your apprentice. Mere days ago in fact. I don't suppose he made you aware of that fact."

The Human displayed a cold smirk. "Vai is free to act as he pleases. A certain level of independence behooves the trust I've placed in him. But what makes you think I've lied to him?"

"Because that's what you do," Syrosk rasped. "You lie. You manipulate others into doing your work and then reap the benefits."

"Are you any different?" Tash countered. "If given the same opportunities could you honestly say you wouldn't take them. I mean, come on Syrosk, it comes with the territory. The image your master painted for you of the Sith couldn't have been all sunshine and rainbows."

"My master taught me about personal worth. About honor. About bettering the Empire, instead of destroying it from within with wanton selfishness," Syrosk declared.

"And if you knew what my master left me, you'd understand the necessity of the actions I've taken," Tash defiantly stated. "You think I'm selfish? You think I'm not bettering the Empire? You think those acolytes would be better off serving you? Wrong on all accounts. But that's your problem. You're never wrong, are you? You can't even fathom the possibility, because your master led you to believe you possessed a connection to some omniscient source. Your master instilled a petulant idea in your head, and you proliferated it to your students. You ruined their chances within the Empire, just as Omnus ruined yours. I thought that after everything had been taken from you, you would roll over just as easily as when you were beholden to your visions. That you would fade away, no longer able to spread your corruptive influence to other Sith. I was mistaken. As always, you chose to persists only when it could harm yourself or others. I spared you because you were once a friend, because I thought maybe you could change your ways. But after all this time you still blindly oppose me, all the while debasing the next generation of Sith. But no more. I lost eight acolytes to you, but I will not risk more. Nor I will not risk my apprentice to your influence."

Darth Tash surged forward, closing the gap between the two of them in an instant. The Human brought his saber down above Syrosk's head, but the alien Sith Lord effortlessly defended against the one-handed arc with his two-handed guard. As the two blades clashed in a vibrant display of crackling energy and sparks, electricity began arcing between the fingers of Tash's free hand. A bolt of Force lightning leapt from the Human's clawed hand, striking Syrosk in the gut. The destructive energy wracked the alien's core as it surged through his body, eliciting a raspy growl of pain.

Syrosk pushed back the blade of his opponent, shoving Tash away and breaking the arc of electricity between them. An immense pain overtook the alien's stomach, extending upward into his chest. Each breath of air brought with it a harsh sting as his lungs felt as if they were on fire. The Sith Lord maintained eye contact with his opponent, who continued to offer a cold, enduring glare as he readied his next attack.

* * *

Lorrik and Jresh made their way through the empty halls and corridors of the Coruscanti office building. The dull and monotonous architecture resembled what the Sith had seen in Imperial designs, but it possessed a far less oppressive palette. The pair moved through tight corridors and passageways, path unobstructed, only the faintest of echoes telling them of the building's fleeing occupants. Various desks and chairs not affixed to the floor lay upon their backs, overturned in the scurry to evacuate.

The occupants of the structure, as well as most of Coruscant, made their way downward, into the depths of the Republic capital, seeking the relative shelter of the Undercity. Though the towers fell and crumbled around them, there was something almost resembling safety beneath the ecumenopolis' skyline. But the Sith had other thoughts on their minds. They had long ago abandoned notions of hiding away and hoping for the best. They vowed to take part in something greater than themselves, and unforeseen setbacks kept them from their destination. But they would not be deterred. Maneuvering though the beige halls of the office building, the Sith marched, side by side, subtly guiding one another, whilst simultaneously relying on pure instinct.

Lorrik and Jresh came to a halt as the hall they traversed did the same. Ahead of them, there was nowhere left to run, but they were on target. The entire face of the corridor's end was composed of glass, allowing the two Sith a clear look toward the building's exterior. The pair gazed into the skyline beyond the transparent barrier.

"We're facing north," Jresh confidently stated.

"Which means our target is right there," Lorrik declared, eyeing the tower directly across from them. Between the two buildings rest enough space for a dense flow of traffic, currently nonexistent due to the civilians being forced from the airspace. An urban canyon rest between them and their destination, an industrial void shrouding the base of both towers. "How big do you suppose the gap is?"

"Less than a hundred meters, though not by much."

The inquisitor panned his gaze up and down the target building looking for something, anything he and his partner could work with. "Look, down there. There's a small outcropping."

The Pureblood focused his gaze at his companion's direction, spotting the small balcony that extended from the target building a few levels lower than their own. There wasn't much to the projection, spanning the width of only a few windows and extending just far enough to give its user some semblance of walking space. "Small target."

"It's the only one we got," Lorrik bluntly stated. Thrusting out his hands, the inquisitor released a burst of telekinetic energy, shattering the entirety of the window before them, and sending the fractured shards tumbling into the depths below. "How's your leg?"

"Not exactly fit for this type of jump. Less so for this kind of landing," Jresh admitted.

"What about your arms? They at full strength?" Lorrik asked. The warrior offered an assured nod. "Alright. We'll go one at a time. You help me across the gap, then I'll catch you on your way over."

The Pureblood looked deep into the eyes of his partner and saw only a undying confidence. And if his companion believed they could do it, he would too. Jresh offered another assured nod as Lorrik made his way back down the hallways. As the inquisitor put some running distance between himself and his partner, Jresh lowered himself to his knee, breathing deeply as he concentrated, gathering his focus.

The Human signaled he was ready and the Pureblood did the same. Lorrik began running toward his partner, toward the hallway's end, toward the gap that separated the two buildings. As his companion drew ever closer, the warrior began channeling the Force, searching for the right mixture of control and raw power. Slightly offset to his partner's path, Jresh allowed Lorrik to run right past him.

In that final moment, as one passed the other, the two began moving in total cooperation. As the inquisitor bent his knees and prepared to launch himself forward, the warrior twisted his body supplying the accompanying sweep of his hands parallel with the Human's movements. The second Lorrik pushed his feet off the floor, he received additional propulsion in the form of as calculated Force wave provided by his companion. The combined efforts of the two Sith sent the individual flying across the urban ravine, meter after meter of empty space passing beneath the inquisitor's feet. Lorrik soared with a graceful arc, arms and legs extended as he approached the targeted balcony.

The journey that should have lasted only a few seconds persisted in the Human's focused mind. Time slowed to a crawl, his eyes perceived every subtle motion and vibration that passed before his gaze, his ears picked up even the most minute sounds of the surrounding chaos and calamity. Finally, the inquisitor's feet once more had a solid surface beneath. Impacting against the target building's outcropping, Lorrik rolled upon the ground, skipping across the metallic surface before finally hitting the tower's exterior wall.

Lying on the cold surface, halted, the Human blinked his eyes in disbelief. Without a moment's hesitation, Lorrik leapt to his feet, pumping his fist in the air, releasing a series of jumbled, exuberant exclamations, the echoes of which could be heard by his partner who watched from afar.

The Pureblood looked to the shrunken image of his distant partner with a mix of relief and pride, releasing the breath he had been holding for the past minute. Moving himself backward, the warrior did as his partner had, putting some distance between himself and the open end of the hallway. With suitable room for a running start, the Pureblood focused his mind, adopting an almost meditative state. As he gathered himself, he could hear his partner speaking through his mind.

"Just remember our early trials. When Syrosk pushed you off a cliff, and I caught you."

Jresh remembered. He remembered the early test, in which he and the other warriors were bound and shoved from a cliff, relying on their companions to slow their descent. He also remembered the second time Syrosk pushed him off a cliff, in which Lorrik crippled his leg and placed himself on the brink of death. He remembered. He could not force himself to forget, but he could choose which memories to hold dear. In the early days of their training, the Pureblood found himself constantly surprised by his companion. But not anymore.

There wasn't much he thought his partner incapable of. Even in the first months of their relationship, Lorrik showed himself willing and able to care for someone other than himself. A fact the warrior could not immediately understand. He questioned the Human's methods, questioned his abilities, questioned his strength. But he had proven himself time and time again. The day they faced that trial, they succeeded because of their combined efforts. But now, Jresh knew Lorrik could succeed by himself if given the same trial. But he also knew that together, they could do more than just succeed. They could thrive. They could accomplish more than any individual could alone.

The warrior shot a quick mental note to his partner, signaling he was ready. The inquisitor shot back a quick confirmation as he readied himself on the other end. With a calm exhalation, Jresh began running down the hallway. The Pureblood's body was moving on instinct, his mind utterly focused on the destination. He ignored whatever possibility of failure existed. He ignored whatever pain he incurred with each stomp of his right foot. He ignored each and every thing that didn't pertain to him successfully crossing that gap. Pressing down hard on his left foot, the warrior launched himself forward from the hallways with a mighty Force leap, soaring across the gap with a heavy arc.

Standing firm across the way, Lorrik reached out with his open palms, clawing at the air as he focused his mind and channeled the Force. Rather than a powerful wave, the inquisitor sought to carry his partner across with an enduring current of telekinetic energy. The Pureblood fell toward the outcropping, limbs extended, experiencing the same moment of clarity his companion had. But as time slowed for the warrior, he had the pleasure of gazing upon his partner who awaited him. But the force required to carry the Pureblood across the gap proved to be more than substantial. Jresh reached the balcony by slamming into Lorrik. The two were sent crashing into the ground, tumbling across the hard surface with their arms wrapped around one another.

The pair finally came to stop with Jresh on his back, Lorrik lying on top of him. The Human lifted his head off his partner's armored chest, and the two Sith looked into one another's eyes, hearts racing.

"I think we made it across," Lorrik muttered, somewhat dumfounded.

"I think we did," Jresh replied, still pinned beneath his partner's weight. Before he could utter another word, the inquisitor pressed his lips against the warrior's own, and the two shared a brief kiss.

Picking himself up from atop his companion, Lorrik offered a helping hand in raising him off the ground. With a gauntleted hand, the warrior accepted the offer and moved to his feet.

"Come on, I sense the acolytes nearby," Lorrik declared. The Pureblood nodded, and the two Sith burst through the door between the balcony and the building's interior.

Once more traversing the corridors of a Coruscanti skyscraper, this time they were only a short run from their destination. Moving through the otherwise business oriented structure, the pair made their way toward their original set of coordinates. Somewhere nestled within was the targeted vault, secured and hidden amongst the commercial dealings around it, more so a bank than a repository of military armament or forbidden secrets. A series of locations to be beneath the notice of would-be thieves, yet equally capable of deterring them. But they were not of Coruscant's many criminals and gangs. They were Sith. And they were determined.

Maneuvering though the halls, moving through the various levels between them and their target, Lorrik and Jresh eventually reached their destination. Ahead of them, a number of acolytes gathered around the sole entrance to a large chamber. Most stood pressed against the walls, shielding themselves from the occasional volley of blaster fire sent their way, a few tending to the wounds suffered by the survivors.

The acolytes were in a huddled panic, unsure of what to do or where to go. One by one, they caught sight of the approaching Sith, but were unable to decide if the sight was a blessing or a curse. One encased in armorweave and hardened plates below the neck, the other garbed in form-fitting robes, the pair of approaching figures were immediately recognizable as Sith, but unrecognizable as individuals. Halting their rushed advance, Lorrik and Jresh pressed themselves against the wall alongside the students.

"What's the situation?" Lorrik stoically asked.

"Who are you?" one of the acolytes replied, a mixture of confusion and hostility in his voice.

"Reinforcements. That's all you need to know," Lorrik confidently declared. Though the apprentices had spent many a year amongst the other students of the classrooms, the fact that they belonged to separate groups and wore atypical garb meant they went unrecognized. But the students recognized they were Sith, which while not a pleasant addition in itself, was better than the alternative.

"Two Jedi. A squad of security forces. Light blasters," the acolyte listed, a level of distress hanging off every syllable. "We can't get in, but they can't get out either."

"Well, that's about to change," Lorrik declared. "Everyone, get ready and follow our lead."

Before the student or any of his fellows could respond, the inquisitor and the warrior removed themselves from the wall and launched themselves into the vault chamber.

* * *

The sabers of Sith Lord and Darth clashed, sounds of the collision echoing throughout the chamber of the eleventh vault. Syrosk and Tash moved about the chamber, utilizing the open terrain as best as they could. But they were not acrobats. They were powerhouses of the Force, maneuvering with blinding speed and unleashed strength. The two brought their blades against one another, hoping each strike would bring them closer to breaking the other's dwindling guard. But they would not prove easily broken. They continued, untiring, driven to see the other fall.

But their respective assaults would not go uninterrupted. Outside the chamber, outside the Coruscanti tower, the invasion was still underway, spreading its destruction as the Imperial navy razed the surrounding districts. As the Republic scrambled what it could of its defense force, the invaders seemed unstoppable, but that would not prohibit individuals from falling.

An Imperial bomber carrying a full payload had its wings clipped and was sent into an uncontrollable spiral, eventually crashing into the side of the building that housed the eleventh vault. The subsequent explosion blew apart much of the tower's face and compromised the section's structural integrity. As the Sith Lord and Darth did battle within, they continued unfazed as one of the chamber's walls slowly ripped itself free from its conjoined fellows. The faces containing the chamber's entrance and vault stood firm, but the fourth wall fell alongside with the rest of the building's eastern facade. The large chamber had become that much larger as it was exposed to the elements, the burning skyline of Coruscant resting within the combatants' sights. But their focus remained on their opponent. So long as they had solid ground beneath their feet, they could continue their duel undeterred.

* * *

Lorrik and Jresh entered the chamber to a renewed volley of blaster fire. The inquisitor's defensive stylings meant he was adept at deflecting the incoming bolts. Drawing attention to himself, the Human intercepted the combined efforts of the security forces single handedly, opting for total protection rather than precise redirection. As the bolts bounced off the inquisitor's blue blade, soaring over the heads of friends and foes alike, the Pureblood closed the gap and entered the fray. Witnessing the two Siths' prowess, the acolytes weren't far behind.

The Jedi quickly overcame their momentary confusion toward the color of the inquisitor's weapon, and set their sights upon the approaching warrior. Igniting their sabers, the pair of Knights moved to intercept the Pureblood, only to find their blows expertly parried. The pair had the advantage against the single opponent, but they would not have the chance to exploit in as the inquisitor moved forward, taking his position at his companion's side. The two Sith moved with martial grace, movements coordinated as they exchanged blows with their opponents, switching between each other's foe at a moment's notice.

Switching his style, the inquisitor shifted his lightsaber into his left hand. The Human could barely guard with his weaker arm, but it left enough of a gap to throw his free hand forward, electricity arcing between its fingertips. Lorrik's right hand grasped the Knight's mouth and streams of Force lightning transferred from his gloved digits to the Jedi's body. The inquisitor's opponent convulsed as the dark energy pulsed through his system before passing out and crumbing to the ground.

Meanwhile, the warrior engaged his opponent with a calculated, yet furious flurry of blows, clashing blade against blade time and time again , testing the Knight's guard at every opportunity. But the Jedi would not remain on the defensive. Spotting an opening along the Pureblood's flank, the defenders brought down his weapon with a fierce, diagonal swing. The warrior moved to intercept, blocking the strike not with his lightsaber, but by batting the blow away with the armored gauntlet of his free hand. The Jedi Knight's eyes grew wide as he watched his weapon ineffectually bounce off the Sith's forearm, the armor plating surrounding it possessing an almost inky blackness. His blow deflected, the Jedi could only watch as the warrior responded with a swing of his own, raking the crimson blade of his saber across his chest.

* * *

Tash and Syrosk pressed one another, unrelenting in their challenge. As the fierce competition continued, each fighter's strikes were slower than the last, each more cautious. But neither could afford to tire. Neither could afford to concede. They fought one another alongside the chamber's newly created edge, the winds of Coruscant carrying in ash and dust in from the neighboring destruction.

The two found a gap had been placed between them and each paused their assault. The Human and the alien stared at one another with unrelenting glares as they drew heavy breaths. The first signs of exhaustion were making themselves known. Muscles ached. Sweat dripped from pores. Both combatant's paused their unending exchange of blows, waiting for the other to strike. They waited for the other to make the first move, ready to counter, ready to retaliate.

But the missing wall had broken the previously sealed chamber. In the distance, one of Coruscant's many power stations were stuck by the invading forces. An explosion unlike any that had preceded it rang out, shooting up a column of fire higher than even the tallest buildings and shaking the ground kilometers around it. The event rested firmly in the sights of Tash and Syrosk as the floor beneath them shuddered. It was only for an instant, but the Sith Lord's guard momentarily faltered.

Rushing forward, Tash capitalized on the shaken alien. Syrosk thought to correct his stance, but as he place a foot forward, he found it intercepted by Tash's saber. The Darth swung his crimson blade, lopping off his opponent's right leg just above the knee. Syrosk let out a harsh growl as he struggled to maintain his stance. Wobbling upon his remaining leg, the Sith Lord was dangerously close to falling over the edge of the exposed chamber. But Tash wouldn't allow it.

The Human placed his left hand on Syrosk's shoulder, steadying him, preventing him from falling, before plunging the tip of his saber through the Sith Lord's gut. The alien was silent as all the strength left his body, his hand unable to maintain its grip on his weapon. The hilt fell to the ground, deactivating as it struck the hard surface of the floor. Syrosk struggled to act, struggled to move, struggled to do anything, but he had already lost control of his body. The blade had passed through his spine and the only thing keeping him upright was Tash.

Hand still firmly gripping his opponent's shoulder, the Darth pulled Syrosk closer, saber still piercing his abdomen, so that his mouth stood adjacent to the alien's ear.

"I trusted you. I protected you," Tash softly whispered, his voice lacking the previous animosity. "I spoke on your behalf. Accommodated you. Stood between you and every Sith who wanted you dead. And this is how you repay me? Well, I guess you were right after all. I hope it was worth it."

Tash pulled the blade from his opponent's gut as Syrosk released an inaudible rasp. The Sith Lord started to slump, but the Darth kept him upright. Returning his weapon to his belt, Tash supported the weight of the defeated foe as Syrosk held on to the last vestiges of life still within him. The Human slowly carried the alien across the room, toward the chamber's entrance. Carefully he sat the paralyzed Sith Lord against the wall.

Tash made sure the alien was situated in such a way that he would remain upright propped against the wall. "Wouldn't want you to die before seeing the fruits of our labor, now would we?"

Without another word, the Darth left the slowly rasping Sith Lord in his place whilst he crossed the chamber back toward the vault.


	110. 4-09 Ascents

**Chapter Nine: Ascents**

Vault Ten. A large chunk of the reinforced door lay cut and thrown across the chamber, edges still aglow with the heat of molten metal. Acolytes carefully maneuvered in and out of the breached chamber, carrying in their arms an assortment of crates and lockboxes of varying size. Some resembled small jewelry boxes, others industrial containers, all holding items and artifacts lost to the Sith long ago.

Lorrik and Jresh watched over the proceedings from a distance, standing resolute at their apparent victory. Between the entering and exiting students, the pair peered into the emptying vault, seeing only a quaint repository of items categorized and arranged along the floor and wall-lining shelves with utmost order. The vault itself was large enough for only six of the acolytes to share the space, and even then they were brushing against one another's shoulders.

The apprentices were arbiters. Protectors. Secondary to the students' continued efforts. As much as it had been a victory for the pair, the acolytes had to believe it was theirs as well. They handled the artifacts. They gathered and collected them without fear that their spoils might be taken away.

As the motley group of acolytes removed the final containers, the apprentices felt a dark inkling in the back of their minds. An itch they couldn't scratch. An announcement in the Force. Something wholly unfamiliar and yet somehow not. The warrior and inquisitor quickly looked toward the source, but the more they focused their attention on it, the more they realized it lied hundreds of meters away, and the more they realized precisely what it meant.

"You felt it, too, right?" Lorrik cautiously asked of his partner.

"Yes," Jresh grimly confessed.

"Syrosk…" Lorrik muttered. "It's faint, but I can still feel a part of him holding on."

"Defeated, but still alive," Jresh stated. "Why is that?"

"I don't know, but we need to get moving. Now," Lorrik answered. The inquisitor released a sharp whistle, catching the attention of the nearby acolytes. "What was your extraction plan?"

"The shuttle that dropped us off is supposed to come back to pick us up," one of the acolytes explained.

"Fortify your positions here," Lorrik advised. "Keep a watch for the shuttle, but don't linger outside, and don't hesitate to flee should the building come under attack. Understood?"

The students offered their nameless protector a series of hesitant nods and watched as he and the Pureblood fled from the chamber.

Lorrik and Jresh moved down the corridors that fed into the vault chamber, frantically making their way toward their master. They had no knowledge of the buildings between themselves and their destination. No idea if the path would be unobstructed or if one even existed, but they would persist, driving themselves forward regardless of whatever trouble might await them.

"If Syrosk was defeated, you know what this means," Jresh stated, still able to hold a conversation at a full sprint. "It will fall to us to deal with Tash."

"And that is entirely what I intend to do," Lorrik replied, keeping pace with his partner. "We're going to deal. No need to needlessly risk ourselves or the other students."

"And if he's not receptive to our dealings?"

"Then we convince him by any means necessary."

The Pureblood offered a dutiful nod, accepting of the possible future they had embedded themselves in. Neither apprentice truly believed themselves capable of handling a Dark Lord of the Sith, but they could not afford to falter in the presence of one another. They each stood strong for their companion, giving the other something to believe in. Their power was their own, but they freely offered it to their partner, bolstering one another in a loop of confidence and determination.

Emerging from the tower out onto the previous outcropping, the two Sith began surveying their surroundings, looking for some possible way to proceed. The gap they had leapt across comprised one of Coruscant's many skylanes, open paths for airspeeder traffic. The lane stretched far into the distance in both directions, creating a large space between the two 'blocks' of buildings. The area beneath the outcropping, the area they had previously traversed, offered only shadows as the base of the towers touched the Coruscanti Undercity. But further down the lane, there was more than an urban abyss separating the two neighboring sectors.

A series of walkways and plazas provided a route for pedestrian traffic between the skyscrapers to the west, the direction they were heading. A fair distance below them, the Sith studied their design, following the pathways with their eyes all the way to their destination. Sighting the building that held the eleventh vault, Lorrik and Jresh saw the intensely damaged state it found itself in. The facing side had been ripped free and deposited upon the walkway below, the vacant innards of several floors open to the Coruscanti skyline.

"That doesn't look good," Jresh stoically stated.

"No. No it doesn't," Lorrik grimly replied. "But we have to get over there."

The Pureblood positioned himself at the overlook's edge and peered into the depths below, only to find a sizable distance rested between themselves and the lower path. In addition to a disparity in elevation, the path itself didn't connect to their building.

"I don't think we can jump this," Jresh admitted.

"We could make it, but the impact would be much worse this time around," Lorrik explained. "And if the walkway doesn't even make its way over here, moving through the building would be waste of time."

"So would standing around and discussing out options," Jresh calmly declared. The warrior placed a foot atop the short barrier that lined the outcropping's edge before beckoning his partner to follow. Pushing himself off, the Pureblood leapt forward, but instead of falling, his hands firmly grasped the miniscule ledge at the base of one of the building's many windows. He halted himself, studied his position, before leaping laterally, only to grasp another tiny ledge a few windows over.

The inquisitor followed his partner's lead, carefully positioning himself near the outcropping's edge, before planting himself upon the building's outer walls. The ledges that lined the exterior were thin, barely able to accommodate the apprentices' fingertips. But an innate resolve and determination allowed them to maintain their grip, even as the threat of a metallic abyss rest below them, even as the cacophonous echoes of war rang out around them. The warrior would blaze a path and the inquisitor would mimic his movements. They would move over a few windows, then drop down a few windows, slowly maneuvering themselves into a position where they could adequately reach the walkway below.

Jresh would release his adamant grip, dropping numerous levels at a time before effortlessly reaffirming his grip upon the tiny ledge that awaited him multiple floors below. Meanwhile, Lorrik moved much more conservatively, each movement calculated and brief, inching himself into the next position with due caution. His companion below him, the inquisitor was determined to match the warrior in pace and capability, but found his grip loosen as an unexpected explosive rocked the neighboring sector. The Human's fingers slipped from their narrow purchase and he was sent plummeting into the depths below, only to find his descent suddenly interrupted by his partner. The inquisitor opened his bewildered eyes to see the Pureblood maintaining his grip on the ledge with a single hand, whilst the other held a firm grip around his forearm.

Lorrik offered an appreciative smile alongside a confident nod. Jresh replied with one of his own, releasing his grip and allowing the inquisitor to grasp onto the ledge beneath him. The pair continued their staggered descent, switching between lateral and vertical movements as they approached the end of the building's outer face. The walkway was still out of reach, its nearest point connecting to the neighboring building. But instead of an entire skylane separating the two, a gap of only a few meters lay between the adjacent skyscrapers. Determining the remaining drop to be negligible, the Pureblood found whatever surface he could dig his hands and feet into, before pushing himself off the exterior walls of the building. The warrior leapt toward the walkway below, absorbing the impact with a swift tuck and roll. As Jresh moved to his feet, Lorrik followed in his wake, landing upon the walkway beside him with a similar flourish.

The two Sith steadied themselves as they studied the path ahead. Before them stretched a long winding walkway, fed by paths connected to each building along the way. As close to a street as one could find on Coruscant. In another time, it would have been a construct of sensibility and reserved grace, the linear plaza that made up its spine offering polite flora in the form of tended gardens and potted plants. But the invasion had shattered the pleasant image. Shattered stones and scrapped metals littered the surface of the walkway, a fine layer of dust and ash providing a harsh blanket. The flora had been broken, wilted, or burned by the surrounding battle, leaving only limping, blackened husks in its wake.

But as the apprentices studied the way ahead, their only concern was with whether or not it would impede them. And it would not. The Sith began their sprint down the walkway, circumventing whatever rubble of debris stood in their way. They ran and ran, the broken face of their target building never leaving their sights. Almost a kilometer rest between them and the open tower, but Lorrik and Jresh pushed themselves to their limits, opening themselves to the Force, letting it enhance their speed beyond what any standard Human was capable of.

The faster they moved down the pathway, the slower time progressed. Once more they found their senses heightened, capable of perceiving and distinguishing the numerous sights and sounds around them, but one held supreme in their minds. The slowly fading life of their master. A light beset by encroaching darkness, ready to be snuffed out at a moment's notice. For all their master's attempts to keep himself separate from his students, he had forged a bond with them. Not as intense as the one the companions shared, but strong none the less.

Minutes passed. Reaching the branch of the walkway that connected to the targeted building, the Sith saw their path obstructed by a large pile of rubble. The missing exterior of the levels above had been deposited below in a mangled heap that completely blocked off the tower's entrance. The crumbled mass stretched upward at a steep incline, giving anyone skilled enough to traverse it a path to the fifth floor, but it would do nothing for the dozen more levels that rest between the apprentices and their target.

"I can barely sense Syrosk," Jresh stated, staring up toward the massive hole in the building's exterior.

"And I can't sense anything else," Lorrik replied. "If we're lucky, that may mean Tash was already taken care of."

"If we're lucky."

The pair steeled themselves, taking their first steps upon the fallen debris and beginning their slow ascent. Finding whatever purchase they could, they climbed whatever leaning slabs of rubble lied in front of them. Hands and feet coated in dust, the apprentices traversed the pile before the refuse could collapse beneath them. Reaching the crest of the hill of debris, the Sith grasped ahold of the building's exterior and began climbing the side of the skyscraper. As the rubble shifted and crumbled beneath them, the pair paid it no attention, focusing only on moving up the vertical surface.

Lorrik and Jresh grasped ahold of whatever ledge they could. The tiny outcroppings surrounding the building's windows provided something to grip, but the journey up the wall proved much more arduous than their previous descents. The inquisitor took the lead, the warrior followed in his wake, ready to catch his partner should he fall. But he would not fall. He would not fail. After coming this far, after getting this close, neither would allow themselves to halt their progress. Level by level they ascended, pushing themselves up one floor at a time, bracing themselves as they inched toward their goal.

Passing over crumbling ledges and shattered windows, the Sith endured. Even as his limbs ached, even as shards of glass from broken windows dug into the inquisitor's ungloved hand, the Human continued, his companion trailing his every movement. Lorrik kept his gaze firmly set ahead, unwilling to look back, unwilling to look down. He had come too far to alter his course.

Moving up a dozen levels, Lorrik finally reached the lower threshold of the wound etched into the building's exterior. With no more wall to climb, the inquisitor dragged himself into the exposed chamber ahead of him before offering a helping hand to his partner. With somewhat solid ground beneath their feet, the apprentices stopped to catch their breath, looking up at the remaining levels above them. An explosion had carved a rough sphere of destruction into the tower, its edge just gracing the chamber holding the eleventh vault.

Lorrik and Jresh looked upward and inward, the faint presence of their master still present, if fading. The jagged edge of the room's ceiling rest beyond their respective reaches, but so long as the Sith were together, they would not be limited. The warrior cupped his gauntleted hands together in front of him, providing a foothold for his partner. The inquisitor stepped into the Pureblood's palms before being launched upward a moment later. The Human scrambled to get a grip on the crumbling edge of the ceiling, quickly pulling himself up to the next level. Reaching down, Lorrik offered a hand to his companion, which he promptly took hold of after taking a mighty leap. The inquisitor let out a low groan as he slowly lifted his partner's considerable weight, dragging him onto the floor beside him. The pair lied on their backs, taking deep breaths, struggling to hide the signs of creeping exhaustion.

"Alright," Lorrik muttered from the floor. "Just two more to go."

* * *

A soft slap sounded out in the chamber of vault eleven. Syrosk stirred from his seated position, groggily rocking his head as he studied the room. Through his hazed vision, he saw no motion, only the breached door on the opposite side of the chamber. Believing his mind to be slipping, the Sith Lord lowered his head as the last vestige of life fled from his body, only to hear another quiet slap. Raising his gaze, the alien saw a pair of hands reaching over floor's wounded edge.

The Lord couldn't believe his eyes as he watched his apprentice lift himself up and onto the chamber floor, lifting his partner up shortly afterwards. The Human quickly darted his gaze across the room before focusing on his wounded master. The apprentices kept their heads low and crawled over to Syrosk's side.

"Syrosk," Lorrik whispered. "What happened?"

"Tash… won," Syrosk slowly rasped, casting his gaze toward the breached vault. The apprentices looked across the chamber, unable to see beyond carved door, but sensed the powerful presence that resided within. Somehow it had managed to remain hidden from the pair's minds until this moment. Whether it spoke of the source's weakness, or strength, they were not sure.

"No he hasn't… not yet," Lorrik softly muttered.

"Listen, Lorrik," Syrosk struggled to vocalize as his body grew cold. "This… my fault… I should have…"

"That's enough. Save your strength."

"It's… a bit late… for that…" Syrosk muttered, coughing as he released a low chortle.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," Lorrik declared.

Before the Sith Lord could offer a response, the inquisitor placed his left hand over his master's abdomen. A soft luminance began to emanate from the Human's palm as healing waves caressed and penetrated the alien's wound. Syrosk felt a warmth in his core, the first feeling he could recall in the past few minutes. The warmth grew in intensity until it was burning hot. The Sith Lord's stomach churned and wrenched as pain overtook his core, but it was somehow preferable to the numbness that had consumed him prior.

Bone sprouted and fused. Muscle and sinew wrapped and connected and new flesh formed around it. The inquisitor was healing his master, repairing the damage Tash had wrought. Lorrik focused his mind, struggling to maintain his poise as the effort sapped what remained of him. As the inquisitor rescinded his hand, Syrosk looked down in disbelief, the previous void bored into his armor and gut now filled with regenerated flesh.

The Human grew weak, legs threatening to buckle under his weight. Carefully, he sat himself down, leaning against the wall beside his master. Jresh crouched in front of him, checking his partner and making sure he was okay, only to receive the Human's dismissing wave. Lorrik offered a gentle smile as his breaths grew more labored.

"I may… have overexerted myself," Lorrik said alongside a broken chuckle.

"Why…" Syrosk muttered, still weak, but no longer feeling on the brink of death.

"You may not have been the best master, but you were still a good mentor," Lorrik replied. "Besides. The chance to prove you wrong was too great to pass up."

"Prove me wrong?"

"You thought you'd die here, remember?"

"I stopped believing that a while ago," Syrosk admitted.

"I'm sure some small part of you still thought you would," Lorrik teased.

"Guys," Jresh interrupted.

Lorrik lifted his gaze to see his partner looking toward the breached vault. Looking across the chamber, the inquisitor saw a dark figure begin to emerge from the prized room.

"Stay put and stay quiet," Lorrik advised his master. "We'll handle this."

The Sith Lord offered no protest, alive but still suitably defeated. The inquisitor lifted himself from the ground with the help of his companion, and the two apprentices made their way toward the center of the chamber. They walked side by side, footsteps heavy with the gait of exhausted legs. They marched forward, unfaltering toward the shadowed figure ahead, steeling themselves for the inevitable confrontation.

Tash stepped into the light of the open chamber, cape swept to the side by the invading winds. Around his neck hung an ornate amulet, its red gem pulsing in sync with its wearer's heartbeat. The Darth's eyes fell to the two Sith approaching him and a subtle smirk crept upon his lips.

Lorrik and Jresh remained stoic as they laid eyes on the powerful figure, finally putting a face to the name they had heard time and time again. The elderly Human's face possessed its share of new wounds and dried blood, but it wasn't enough to disrupt his charismatic visage. He was tall, his body maintaining its athletic physique well into old age and encased in a suit of heavy armorweave and hardened plates. But drawing their attention was the oppressive, pulsating crimson glow emanating from the amulet around his neck.

"We keeping with the plan?" Jresh mentally asked of his companion.

"Assuming my legs don't give out," Lorrik mentally shot back. "Stay alert."

The apprentices continued their journey forward, stances rigid as they came to a stop in front of Tash, the two forces just outside of one another's reach.

"Well, I take you two are some of Syrosk's apprentices," Tash cordially declared. "A Pureblood, you must be Jresh. And the Human, you must be Orrik."

The inquisitor's eyes deadened as the air seeped from his lungs. Gathering himself, the young Human straightened his posture. "It's Lorrik."

"Ah, my mistake," Tash genuinely apologized. "My apprentice spoke well of all of you."

"I assumed that's why you offered us the chance to join you," Lorrik replied.

"A chance you declined," Tash stated.

"I wouldn't say that," Lorrik admitted. "As we speak, the other apprentices are out helping your students collect the contents of the vaults."

"Mighty generous of you. Although I'm curious as to how you managed to locat them by yourselves. I had assumed Syrosk's presence here was him exploiting the connection we still possess."

"You know how it is, the more people you involve, the less likely it is to control the flow of information," Lorrik explained.

"Did Vai tell you?" Tash asked.

"If only it had been that easy," Lorrik joked. "Had to get the information from one of your instructors."

"You're rather resourceful. Though the simpler method would have been to just ask."

"Simpler, yes. Buy not as effective," Lorrik declared. "Didn't want to you knowing we were involving ourselves until the right time."

"Which is obviously now," Tash stated.

"Correct," Lorrik replied. "It allows us to negotiate on more equal terms."

"Negotiate?" Tash repeated, his warmth slowly fading. "So you intend to come out ahead in all this?"

"Somewhat, though my interest lies in benefiting the acolytes," Lorrik explained. "I intend to see that they walk away from this ordeal with the recognition they deserve."

"I don't see where the negotiating comes in," Tash declared.

"Well, the thing is, I know you say you're doing this all to benefit your students, but I have my doubts," Lorrik admitted. "I know Vai believes you, but then again, that seems to be your strong suit. Syrosk believed you when you said you were out to change the next generation of Sith. The students believed you when you promised to deliver them to greatness. The instructors believed you when you told them they were to be sacrificed for the war effort. No doubt you've had to lie to certain parties to keep your operation undeterred, the only question is whom? Perhaps you truly are the benevolent Sith who is undermining the institution to aid these downtrodden outcasts. Perhaps you're just manipulating them into serving your own selfish goals. Maybe you're doing a little of both. But at his point, I really couldn't care less about your motivation or your methods. The truth is, all I care about is the result of today's trials, where the students are given their lives back, where they are finally given the standing they deserve in the Empire. The thought had crossed my mind, that if you were doing all this for selfish reasons, you might not find yourself sufficiently motivated to follow through with the promises you've made. The acolytes believe their efforts here will earn them recognition amongst the Sith, as ignorant as some of them are of their current standing. I intend to see that their beliefs were not misplaced."

The elder Human stared at the younger one with a firm arch of his brow, pleasantness draining from his face. "You speak of intentions. Not actions."

"You're right," Lorrik replied. "Well, I can see now that you targeted this particular vault, as evidenced by its location in relation to the others, as well as the current artifact you have draped around your neck. Before, I had thought maybe the other ten vaults were simply an elaborate ruse to make sure you could access this one with relatively little resistance. That you didn't care if the acolytes lived or died. In response to this thought, my friends and I decided to assist a few of the classrooms. Although my partner and I chose to divert our attention here, the others currently control the contents of their vaults. Five by my count. Almost half the total haul. Now, if it turns out you weren't lying, that you truly intend to use the contents of these vaults to elevate the students' standing, then we'll happily turn over whatever artifacts we recovered back to you. However, if not, we'll hold on to them, and use our yield to do what you refused to. You'll be left with the gains of yourself, your apprentices, and the classrooms we didn't manage to support. If you really only wanted the contents of this particular vault, then congratulations, you succeeded, and you really shouldn't have any objections to either scenario."

The Darth patiently passed his gaze over the younger Human and the silent Pureblood. Tash's lips began to quiver and curl, until a light chuckle began to pass between them.

"You got me," Tash confessed, raising his hands. "All I really wanted was this amulet." Lowering his hands, the Darth moved one to gently caress the still glowing red gem that hung from the chain. "You see, this belonged to my master. It was the source of his power. It was how he maintained his control over me for as long as he did. After all these years, I wanted nothing more than to hold it in my hands. You see, before he died, rather than allowing me to inherit his belongings, he had them removed from Imperial space before we had even revealed ourselves to the galaxy. They were recovered by the Jedi, and placed in these vaults. But this piece, this piece right here, I knew I'd find it in this one. And now I finally have it. That which defined my master."

Tash moved both of his hands around the pulsing amulet, almost petting the item, when without a moment's notice, he tugged at the jewel, breaking the chain and ripping it from his neck. Clenching a fist around the amulet, the Darth pulled back before throwing the artifact out the opened side of the chamber, sending it plummeting to the depths of Coruscant.

"I hated my master," Tash nonchalantly declared. "But you're right, this venture wasn't entirely unselfish. You needn't worry, however. For the other items, I have something much greater planned."

"So you do intend to help the acolytes?" Lorrik asked.

"Now what did I say about intentions and actions?" Tash coyly replied. "Now, I'm going to have to ask you to relinquish the contents of the other vaults."

"I'd be more than happy to," Lorrik declared. "Of course, I'd need some sort of proof that you were telling the truth. Until then, consider them to be in… escrow."

Once more Tash offered the firm arch of his brow. "You are playing a very dangerous game."

"This is no game, and I am not playing," Lorrik stoically stated. "I've given you your options. Use every item from every vault to help the acolytes, or take what you've earned so far and walk away. It's up to you. Pick a third option, are you're going to have to go through me and my partner and six more just like us. Of course, I'm sure one of your apprentices would be none too thrilled to learn you murdered his son, so you'd have to face him as well. And when your other apprentice learned all this wasn't for the acolytes' benefit, I don't think you could count on his support either. There's a way in which we all walk out winners, it's just up to you to make the right call."

There was a heavy silence that consumed the chamber, only the whistles of the passing wind and the echoes of bombs ringing out in the distance present. Tash passed his gaze between the two Sith before him, staring at the stalwart inquisitor, the silent warrior. They stood tall, unrelenting in their stance and demeanor. Finally, after a prolonged quiet, Tash release a low, droning cackle.

It was Lorrik's turn to offer the arch of his brow. "I'm sure you can-"

The inquisitor was interrupted as he and his partner were violently thrown backward as Tash flung out his hands, releasing a powerful telekinetic wave. The pair fumbled through the air before impacting several meters back, sliding a few more beyond that.

"You insignificant curs have the audacity to interfere with MY plans? To steal from MY vaults?" Tash shouted

Lorrik and Jresh came to a stop on the other side of the chamber. As he slowly writhed on the ground, the inquisitor released a low groan.

"So much for negotiations," Lorrik muttered.

"Backup plan?" Jresh whispered as he lifted himself from the ground.

"Backup plan."


	111. 4-10 Resolutions

**Chapter Ten: Resolutions**

The two apprentices stood resolute, picking themselves off the ground following Tash's powerful Force wave. As the Darth approached them, he did so with a cold determination, equal parts patient and ill-tempered. He had no need to run. In fact, doing so would be to his detriment. At the moment, he could approach the pair of challengers with a steady gait, prolonging the amount of time they were forced to gaze upon his chilling visage, slowly instilling the fear of a Dark Lord of the Sith.

All parties had drawn their sabers. From the Pureblood's black hilt sprouted the familiar blade of crimson, and from the inquisitor's, the ever peculiar blue beam. But as his face basked in the glow of his own red weapon, the Darth paid no mind to the younger Human's weapon. He couldn't be bothered to care for such insignificancies. As Tash neared his targets, mind firmly set on its path, the apprentices were pressured for their response. They had to decide, then and there, how to deal with their immensely powerful foe. The conflict was unavoidable, that much was readily apparent. The only question was how could they resolve it. And whether or not their exhausting bodies would even allow them to carry out such a resolution.

The two apprentices raised their guard and began sidestepping away from one another. If they had any hope of victory, they had to insure the battle would be fought at three points instead of a mere two. The line connecting the combatants had turned to a triangle as the apprentices separated themselves, forcing the Darth to choose whom to focus his attention. Tash could only fight in a single direction at a time, or so they hoped. One would bear the elder Human's initial assault, whilst the other attacked his flank.

Tash set his eyes on the physically stronger of the pair, focusing his approach on the Pureblood. In the blink of an eye, the Darth launched forward, gliding across the floor in a single step to close the gap between himself and the warrior. A quick swipe of the Darth's blade was intercepted by Jresh's, the kinetic energy behind the blow shaking the Pureblood's arms. But he would not budge an inch. Pushing back, the warrior had enough strength to force the Darth a step backward, toward the now charging inquisitor.

Lorrik thrust the tip of his saber forward, intent on piercing his opponent's back, only to have him sidestep the blow at the last moment, the inquisitor's blade only gracing the edge of the Darth's black cape. Tash's movements were fluid and continuous, utilizing the momentum of every motion enacted upon him. Spinning on his heels, the elder Human swung his saber toward the offset attacker who had just missed him. The inquisitor had no way of adequately blocking the strike, opting instead to sloppily roll forward beyond the Darth's reach. Such a maneuver would have easily been exploited and punished, had Jresh not moved in to pick up the slack, clashing blades with the elder Human once more.

The Pureblood tightly gripped both hands around the hilt of his saber, sacrificing neither offense nor defense as he channeled the Force throughout his entire body. Every step, every swing of his arms was fueled by more than just muscle. But the same could be said for the Darth, whom had the advantage of decades of communing with the mystic source. Whilst the two powerful figures remained locked in a clash of sabers, the inquisitor righted himself and rejoined the fold.

The two apprentices attacked as one, much as they had when battling with their master. But this time they did not have the luxury of a fresh start. Despite the advantage of two bodies, the pair did not possess the strength to breach the Darth's defenses. They were too slow, their legs almost crumbling beneath their weight, their arms almost refusing to maintain their holds. If not for their raw determination, if not for the Force, they would have long ago lost the ability to move, let alone engage in battle.

Lorrik and Jresh would attack, releasing a series of blows that Tash would block or parry. They would duck and weave about the Darth, avoiding whatever attacks they knew they were incapable of blocking. And as soon as they found themselves nearing a breach in their opponent's defenses, the elder Human would release a powerful Force wave, shaking their stances and sending them tumbling backward.

As the inquisitor slid upon his back across the smooth chamber floor, the warrior slid upon his feet, digging his knee as well as his blade into the floor to slow and stabilize his forced movement. From his kneeling position, Jresh launched a renewed assault, leaping at the Darth, ready to bring down his weapon with all his might. But Tash would have none of it. Thrusting his hands outward, the Darth caught his opponent in mid-air with the Force, the Pureblood's stilled body floating beyond his reach. With a wide swing of his arms, Tash sent the warrior flying across the chamber to impact against the still standing wall opposite the destroyed opening. The Pureblood's armored body struck the solid surface with enough force to leave an indentation, as well an echoing thud, before he slumped to the ground.

"Jresh!" Lorrik exclaimed as he picked himself up from the ground. He feverishly eyed his partner who remained motionless upon the floor. Tightening his grip around his lightsaber, the inquisitor charged the Darth, only to find a stream of lightning released from the elder Human's free hand.

The inquisitor raised his blade, the crackling blue energy connecting with the beam of plasma, surging from tip to hilt. The younger Human steeled himself, planting his feet and maintaining his guard, focusing all of his attention on keeping the lightning isolated in his lightsaber's blade. Finally, the Darth relented, lowering his hand as the last arc of electricity left his fingertips.

"What is it you hope to accomplish here?" Tash taunted.

"I could ask you the same thing," Lorrik curtly replied, saber still raised, faced aglow with the blue light of his weapon.

The Darth let out a low chortle. "I'm making the Empire a better place."

"Let me guess, by elevating yourself to a position of power, whilst letting the filth like us and the acolytes die in your place," Lorrik chided.

"You truly are Syrosk's apprentice. Seeing only what you want to," Tash countered. "You think me like other Sith? You think I care one bit about the blood running through your veins? Those acolytes are just as worthy of being Sith as any other."

"Then why lie to them? Why hold them back? Why do everything in your power to keep them from becoming true Sith?"

"You foolish child. Do you even have the smallest idea of how the Empire truly works? I'm not the one holding those student's back. It's every traditionalist with some measure of sway amongst the Sith. You simply can't fathom the idea that I'm the best thing to ever happen to those acolytes. That without me, you'd be nothing."

"I suppose you'd have me forget Syrosk's involvement?" Lorrik asked.

"You'd be better off for doing so," Tash declared. "Syrosk served his purpose, and had he listened to me, he could have avoided some of the troubles he's been forced to endure. Sadly, he was too headstrong, too ambitious."

"So you cut him out, because he had the audacity to challenge you, to challenge tradition. He was punished because he held true to the ideals of the Sith, not the petty traditions it holds dear."

"You still have no idea of what it means to be a Sith."

"It means having freedom," Lorrik emphatically stated.

The Darth released another low chortle. "Don't you get it, boy? There's no such thing as freedom. Whether you belong to the Jedi or Sith, Republic or Empire, everyone is somebody else's slave. No matter have strong you become, no matter how high you climb, you'll always be beholden to someone else. Someone will always control your life. Even as Sith. Even as Lords. Even as Darths and Dark Councilors. That was Syrosk's problem. He thought he was alone, isolated. He thought that just because he was an alien, he somehow operated outside of the system. In reality, it just meant more eyes were watching him. Whilst he was scouting for Force-sensitive children, I was dealing with the repercussions. I was pressured to sever ties with him, but I wouldn't, because I truly believed in the same things as he. I thought something could be made of those students. But in the following years, even after severing ties with Syrosk, those who called for his head were now calling for yours. I was pressured to purge the classrooms, their continued existence a blight on our homeworld, on the Academy. I made every excuse I could, saying they weren't true students of the Academy, saying they were tools of war, that they would never become true Sith, all the while keeping their true purpose a secret."

The inquisitor's eyes sharpened. "And what was their true purpose?"

"They didn't have one," Tash bluntly explained. "You were intended to be blank slates. Unshaped forms to be molded toward some future purpose. You were supposed to be useful in some manner, some capacity, but you never were. You were originally going to be made into the perfect apprentices, beholden to and in reverence of your masters. You were commodities to be bartered and traded. The only problem? No one wanted you. I promised students who would never betray, never question. But you were tainted. Cursed. No one was willing to take on the trouble associated with you. I was stuck with almost one hundred dysfunctional products."

"Then why keep us around? Why continue the classrooms if you knew nothing would come from them?" Lorrik asked.

"Because I still had to recoup my loses," Tash answered. "I still had debts to pay and I wasn't about to throw away a potential asset. I knew that eventually, the acolytes would find a way to make themselves useful. And they did."

"The vaults," Lorrik muttered.

"That's right," Tash replied. "You had a reason to exist, one I could play up to the other Sith."

"But why? What's so important about the vaults?"

"Their contents," Tash plainly stated. "Ancient artifacts and treasures aren't exactly a renewable resource. I spent years, decades, climbing up the Sith food chain. I've fought countless battles, slain countless soldiers whilst overseeing our own. I've delivered victory after victory to the Sith and the Empire, and as far as I've risen, there's still more to climb. For every favor I'd earn, I'd wind up owing another. For all my strength, for all my knowledge, it was overlooked amidst the sea of countless warriors vying for recognition. But I knew a way to earn as much in a single battle as I had across the entire war. I knew of the vaults. I knew of their value. They were beyond my reach, but I knew Coruscant would eventually become a military target. And I knew I held in my hands a way of striking all the vaults simultaneously without dividing the spoils amongst other Lords."

"Let the acolytes attack the vaults, believing that if they're successful they'll have finally earned the attention of their mysterious patron," Lorrik suggested. "Meanwhile, you take all the credit and items for yourself."

"Truly the best course of action," Tash declared.

"And what about the students?" Lorrik asked. "They get nothing? All this talk about benefiting them was as much a lie as everything else?"

"Of course not," Tash replied. "Putting the spoils in my hands is what's best for them. Spread out amongst the acolytes, the artifacts aren't worth the effort. Consolidated under a single individual, and it becomes enough to shake up the Sith Order. You'd be doing them a disservice by putting the acolytes in charge of the vaults' contents. They wouldn't even know what to do with them, and they'd just be taken away by someone stronger."

"Someone like you," Lorrik muttered.

"If they were lucky," Tash stated. "Your life under Syrosk has left you sheltered, blind the larger world around you. There are far worse Sith than I. But you don't care, because I'm the villain. I have to be, otherwise everything you've assigned to me, all the blame you've placed on me becomes null and void. You'll have to face the fact that you're a far worse influence on your own life than I am. You'll have to face the fact that I'm doing something that could better the Empire, and you're trying to stop me."

Lorrik recoiled. "Better the Empire? This is just another selfish Sith attempting to better his station at the expense of others. Everyone thinks the galaxy would be a better place if they were in charge. But that doesn't give you the right to sacrifice and control the lives of others in the name of some greater cause."

"Wake up!" Tash directed. "You think you're any less selfish than me? You think there's no blood on your hands? Every action has consequences. Something Syrosk never came to understand. How many lives have ended or suffered because of your actions? Do you even stop to think about it? Or are you so focused on your endeavors that you push it from your mind? I came to terms with the fact long ago. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made. If a few dozen, or even a few hundred lives must be lost to serve a greater cause then so be it. Others have sacrificed far more for far less in return."

"I understand sacrifice," Lorrik admitted. "I have given up so much, so that I might live a better life, that I might share that life with my partner. But I do not throw away the lives of my fellows for my own sake."

"And that is why you will never amount to anything," Tash declared. "If you're not willing to take necessary action, then you are unfit to call yourself Sith."

"And if you would deny the next generation of Sith their right to exist, then so are you," Lorrik countered.

"My actions are what will allow the next generation to thrive!" Tash replied.

"Oh, of course they will," Lorrik sarcastically stated. "After all, you been nothing but unselfish thus far, why would that change after earning a position of power?"

"You still think this is about me?" Tash muttered before releasing a low chuckle. "I'm no immortal. As I grow older, I know my days are numbered. But whereas my master left me with nothing more than a life of pain and misery, I intend on leaving the tools to create a new age of Sith."

"You mean…"

"That's right. When I said the vaults' contents would be consolidated under a single individual, I didn't mean myself. No, that will fall to someone who has already surpassed me in strength and skill. My favored apprentice."

"Vai," Lorrik muttered.

"I realized long ago that I had reached my limit. There was little room for improvement, and all that was left was the slow decline that would end in my death. Even now, I'm older than most Dark Councilors. There's nowhere left for me to go, but my apprentice still has his youth, and with his inheritance will be able to enact the change Syrosk and I never could. But in order for my plan to succeed, I need the contents of every vault, and I cannot allow you or your allies to stand in my way!"

Before he could speak, Lorrik found another stream of Force lightning surging his way from the Darth's free hand. The inquisitor reaffirmed his guard, placing the blade of his lightsaber between himself and the bolts of electricity. The arcs crackled and danced upon the beam of plasma as Lorrik attempted to keep the assault under control. Disengaging his own weapon, Tash thrust his second hand forward, hurling more and more lightning toward the younger Human. The blue bolts lashed out, occasionally arcing free of the inquisitor's lightsaber, striking the nearby floor in a brilliant display of sparks. The energy was fast becoming too much to handle, and Lorrik was unable to keep the steady stream of electricity bound to his weapon's blade. The Force lightning traveled, up and down the beam of plasma, into the polished hilt at its base, passing through each connected component before finally igniting the saber's power cell.

Lorrik's lightsaber exploded in his right hand, embroiling it in a quick burst of energy and metallic shards. As Tash ceased his onslaught of lightning, the inquisitor was left clutching his seared hand, slivers of shattered hilt imbedded in his right palm. The glove that previously covered his digits had been completely blown off, leaving the blackened flesh visible to the younger Human's naked eye. Blackened from two sources. After recovering from the initial shock, the inquisitor realized that he felt no pain in his right hand, even as he stared at the burns and shards of metal buried in his flesh.

The inquisitor was left in a stupor, trying to consolidate the simultaneous feelings of dismay and relief, of pain and numbness, of curiosity and misunderstanding. But regardless of how he felt, the apprentice quickly realized that he was now without a weapon. His lightsaber had been obliterated before his very eyes, leaving nothing but fractured crystal and hilt fragments on the floor. He knew he had to do something. He had no weapon with which to attack or defend. Would he have to barter for his life? Should he try to trick Tash? Could he continue to fight through the Force alone? As time seemed to slow to a crawl and the inquisitor weighed his options, he heard a whisper in the back of his mind.

"Lorrik," Jresh's voice entered his head. He thought to look toward where he lay, but didn't want to draw attention to the fallen Pureblood.

"Are you okay?" Lorrik mentally shot back.

"Worry about yourself," Jresh calmly replied. "Things aren't looking too good."

"I noticed."

"You know how when we're in trouble, you usually think of something that for all intents and purposes shouldn't work, but somehow miraculously does?" Jresh mentally asked.

"I'm afraid I don't have anything this time around."

"Well, I might."

A thought entered the inquisitor's mind. Not one of his own, but one offered by his companion. The warrior had a plan, or rather, an idea. Lorrik had his objections, his protests, but he knew that their options were limited. But in order for it to work, he'd have to make sure Tash couldn't retaliate. The inquisitor looked to his opponent, noticing his breathing to be heavy than before, that last attack taking more out of him than either had previously thought.

Lorrik steadied himself, straightening out his almost buckling legs, left hand still clutching his right wrist. With a deep breath, the inquisitor stood as tall as his failing body would allow.

"You call that lightning?" Lorrik taunted.

Darth Tash offered the stern arch of his brow alongside a firm scowl. The elder Human had grown tired of the inquisitor, and was ready to put a permanent end to his involvement. Raising both hands, the Darth made sharp clawing movements with his fingers, before a heavy stream of Force lightning leapt from their tips. In the fraction of time it took the crackling bolts of energy to close in of the younger Human, Lorrik maneuvered his right hand to intercept. The lightning connected with his fingertips and the dark energy crackled and arced across the entirety of his hand.

Lorrik could feel the surge of electricity flow into his fingers and palm, but it brought with it no pain, only the sights and sounds of seared flesh. The inquisitor had only intended to endure the destructive energies, but without his knowledge, he had begun to absorb it. The Force lightning not only connected with, but sunk into his skin as if conducted by the spot's previously cracked and blackened marks. Lorrik kept his hand raised as the Darth summoned more and more electricity toward the inquisitor. The energy would touch his right hand, arcing across his flesh as if frantically searching for something to cling to.

The energies circulating his hand grew wilder and wilder, until they could no longer be contained. The lightning bounced and arced further down the inquisitor's arm, carrying with it the wracked patterns that had previously only graced his palm and fingertips. The paleness, the numbness, the seared and cracked flesh slowly crept up Lorrik's arm, going from wrist, to forearm, to elbow. More lightning came and the younger Human would continue to absorb it. But unable to properly contain and control the dark energies, he could only subconsciously diffuse it. As the lightning crept further up the inquisitor's arm, it flayed whatever clothes stood in its way, ripping the sleeve off of the Human's robes as crispy flinders slowly floated to the floor.

The onslaught of Force lightning finally came to an end with the inquisitor possessing scarred flesh all the way past his shoulder, spreading to the right side of his chest and back. Half of the younger Human's robes had been ripped, torn, and deposited in the form of ash as his feet, leaving the other half lightly hanging from his left shoulder. Much of the inquisitor's right arm had been burnt by the stream of electricity, but plainly visible running up the entirety of the limb were what appeared to be black cracks, splitting and rejoining numerous times across the Human's damaged flesh.

Tash's hands dropped to his side, the Darth visibly exhausted as he drew more and more labored breaths. As he focused his gaze on the inquisitor, he marveled at the fact that he had not been reduced to a scorched corpse. Instead, he stood as he had moments prior, upright, baring a blackened arm that had managed to absorb the entirety of his assault.

"My turn," Lorrik muttered. Raising his burnt, blackened hand, the inquisitor contorted his digits into a clawing motion as electricity arced between his fingertips. Focusing the entirely of his body, mind, and spirit, the younger Human channeled whatever he could into his next attack. Then, in an instant, a sharp bolt of lightning leapt from the inquisitor's scarred hand. The blue bolt of electricity surged across the chamber, and struck the Darth directly in the chest. The energy pierced Tash's breastplate, wracking the flesh beneath as it spread from its point of impact to harm the rest of his torso.

Lorrik had endured the entirety of the lightning thrown at him, but he had neither the skill or capacity to store it, let alone redirect it. What he offered in his attack was his and his alone, a furious bolt called forth from every emotion the inquisitor could muster, every feeling, every desire, consolidating into a single blow. The younger Human watched as Tash stood motionless and silent, until he finally release a low chortle.

"You call that lightning?" Tash taunted, no worse for wear. "I was electrocuted daily by my master. You honestly believed that pitiful display enough to harm me?"

"If lightning won't work," Lorrik whispered. "How 'bout some thunder?"

Tash barely had enough time to raise an eyebrow before Jresh had launched himself toward the exhausted Darth. His weapon holstered, his energy spent, there was nothing for the elder Human to do as the warrior barreled toward him with a furious charge, eyes growing wide as the red blur approached.

The inquisitor was weak, exhausted, but not spent. For all he had mustered to conjure a bolt of lightning, he was willing to give just enough more. Hands outstretched, Lorrik used what little remained within him to push his partner forward, bolstering the unstoppable warrior's advance. Jresh was one with himself, one with his companion, one with the Force. Every fiber of his being pulsed with unseen energies, fueling every motion he took, ensuring nothing could stand in his way.

In the briefest of moments, Jresh experienced a deep clarity almost beyond his own comprehension. A thought entered his mind, a thought provided not by his own brain or anyone else's. A thought pulled from the Force, that drove him toward one singular point. One he could exploit. One he could shatter.

Time slowed to a crawl for the Pureblood, completely stopping as he neared his target. Whereas before, his senses would be bolstered, able to perceive the most insignificant of events around him, this time, it was the opposite. Everything faded from the warrior's mind. He could not hear the sounds of battle. He could not taste the sweat and blood upon his lips. He could not feel the pain threatening to consume his body. His senses had abandoned him in favor of concentrating on a single point in space and time. One planted directly in front of him.

Jresh pushed off his final step as he found himself directly in front of Tash, releasing all the energy he had gathered, all the strength he held within him in a single blow. The warrior crashed himself into the Darth's chest, crushing the elder Human's torso before his entire frame was lifted off the ground. Jresh and Tash were airborne, the Pureblood's immense momentum sending them flying across the chamber, still in contact with one another as they surged past the chamber's boundaries, past the jagged edge of the wounded floor, past the threshold of the building's interior. The pair flew across the open skies of Coruscant for an instant, before impacting against the adjacent skyscraper. The exterior wall cracked and cratered at the point of impact, the nearby windows shattering, but the pair did not breached the wall. Instead, they sat for a moment embedded in the crumbling exterior before gravity took hold of them, sending them both plummeting toward the walkway below.

The entire ordeal had transpired in a flash, leaving the inquisitor staring wide-eyed at what had just happened. Lorrik watched as his opponent and companion began to fall, and wanted to do everything in his power to stop it. Unfortunately he had no power left. Everything had been drained from him. The infinite source that had allowed his body to be pushed beyond its limits had ceased offering its boon. The inquisitor tried to take a single step, but was unable. Every part of the Human's body was either aching or numb. And before he could think of how to proceed, his legs gave out from underneath him, sending him crumbling to the floor. Flat upon his back, Lorrik was forced to stare at the ceiling as he quickly lost control of his body.

Outside, Tash and Jresh fell toward the hard surface a dozen levels beneath them. The Darth was limp, making no movements or protests as he fell like a rock toward the walkway below. Jresh however, retained a bit more control. The exteriors of the two buildings were both beyond his reach. With nothing to grab onto, the Pureblood could only slow his descent by channeling the Force. Unfortunately, his previous exertion had left him drained. He did what he could, focused his mind, releasing whatever waves he could muster to cushion his fall. The loud thud that accompanied his landing indicated he was less that successful. Jresh struck the surface of the walkway, and Tash did the same soon after. The two Sith laid on the cold, metallic surface, utterly motionless.

Time passed. Whether it was mere seconds or minutes, none of the combatants possessed an adequate means of knowing. The sounds of the invasion continued to echo throughout the city streets, fighters and bombers howling overhead as they made their way to their objectives.

"My… -ord," an electronic voice crackled from somewhere on the Darth's body. The communicator clipped to Tash's belt had been all but shattered, blinking and sputtering its technological death throes. "Targ-…-quired. What a-… orders?"

"My Lor-…" another voice interrupted the channel. "Another… already here." The voices continued to emanated from the battered communicator, some speaking of success, some speaking of complications. All seeking the words of their master. Words not provided.

Finally, there was motion on the walkway. Tash shifted from his position, coughing up blood as he rolled upon his back. His entire body shivered as he was unable to properly right himself. Rolling onto his side, the Darth placed his hands upon the ground, struggling to push himself up off the cold surface, only to find his efforts unsuccessful. Tash's arms collapsed beneath his own weight, planting his face against the hard floor of the walkway. The elder Human released a series of raspy wheezes as he carefully breathed through his failing lungs. Slowly, he tried again, planting his hands upon the ground, moving his knees between his torso and the cold surface.

The Darth staggered to his feet, stumbling and almost falling numerous times before finally resembling an upright stance. Reaching to his belt, Tash cusped the remains of the communicator in his hand, only for it to unravel the moment he unclipped it. The casing and electronic bits separated and fell to the ground, the crackled voices of the Darth's underlings permanently silenced. The Human released a low grumble between coughing fits as he struggled to maintain his upright stance.

A series of scratches and thuds sounded behind the Darth. Turning around, Tash saw the Pureblood stirring from the floor, slowly picking himself up off the ground. The warrior braced himself against his fists, rolling onto his knees as he struggled to right himself. Wasting no time, the Darth drew and ignited his saber. Standing over the half-risen Pureblood, the elder Human offered no taunts, no words of wisdom or pride. He merely lifted his red blade, intent on driving through the meddlesome warrior.

But as the beam of plasma made its haggard descent, it was batted away by the warrior's armored fist. The black gauntlet than encased Jresh's hand and forearm withstood the blade's immense heat, and the force of the blow was enough to release the Darth's grip on his weapon. The lightsaber flew from Tash's grasp, flying over the walkway's railing and plummeting to the urban abyss below.

"You have no idea… the mistake you're making," Tash struggled to vocalize. All he could do was watch as Jresh stood to his feet, his own body failing him. "This was the chance… to make a difference. Those artifacts… are worthless in your hands. You have no connections. In the Empire… you're only as capable as your superiors."

"I have no superiors," Jresh declared.

"Then you… are nothing," Tash countered.

The Pureblood stared his opponent down. Both of them were at the breaking point. Their bodies, minds, and spirits were at their limits. Neither was capable of calling upon the Force. But the warrior didn't need it. All he needed was one more hit.

Pulling his fist back, Jresh released a wide, powerful blow against the Darth's cheek with his fist, sending him spiraling to the ground where he would never move again.

It was finally over. The warrior's hands dropped to his side, limp, exhausted. His legs began to shake. His vision began to blur. He had spent his last bit of energy. The Pureblood was frozen in place, unable to act, unable to move. Before he could even try, his legs buckled, sending him crumbling to the ground beside a defeated Tash.

Lying upon his back, the Pureblood could only watch as he saw an Imperial shuttle approach their position. The vessel hovered above the Siths' heads before touching down in a clearing further down the walkway. The warrior's vision was fading, large periods of time passing with each blink of his eyes. The shuttle docked in the adjacent plaza. Blink. A lone figure emerged, garbed in a vibrant red coat. Blink. The figure held a hand to his master's neck, checking the Darth's pulse. Blink. The figure stood over the warrior as his vision finally went black, fading to unconsciousness.

Lorrik opened his eyes to find a lone figure standing over him. A Human only ten years his elder, garbed in a vibrant red coat. As Tash's apprentice looked down upon him, Lorrik gazed upwards into his unmarred, unsullied visage. Vai Thorel stood resolute, not displaying a single sign of exhaustion.

"You are persistent, I'll give you that," Thorel calmly stated. As the inquisitor came to, he was still weak, still unable to move from his spot. He was completely at the mercy of the standing Sith. The younger Human's lips began to quiver and contort, eager to release some sound, but no words came. "If you're wondering, your partner's over there, next to your master."

"T…Tash…" Lorrik managed to utter.

The older Human hesitated. "He's gone," Thorel stoically said. "But don't worry. I don't plan on killing you so long as you don't give me a reason to. If you and your master have gotten this petty vengeance business out of your systems, there's no reason to oppose one another. Ikton and I will pick up where Tash left off. You helped the acolytes of your own accord, so I'm sure you've no objections to our goals. Though why you felt the need to go through so much trouble in such a roundabout manner, I'll never know."

"Tash wasn't going to help the students… he was going keep all the artifacts… give them to you…" Lorrik explained through bated breaths. "They were tools… whose purpose was to elevate you and you alone. He didn't care about these students… he was willing to sacrifice them for the sake of the next generation… the next generation you would have a hand in shaping."

"Did he tell you that?" Thorel calmly asked, straddling the line between belief and disbelief. The older apprentice let out a heavy sigh. "That would explain a lot."

Thorel extended a hand, offering to help the inquisitor up. The younger Human struggled to lift his left arm, but eventually he raised to the point where the coated figure could grasp ahold. Thorel effortlessly raised Lorrik to his feet, but he would not be able to stay there of his own accord. Wrapping the inquisitor's arm around the back of his neck, the older apprentice supported the bulk of the younger one's weight upon his shoulder.

He began leading the injured inquisitor across the chamber. Looking ahead, Lorrik could see Syrosk and Jresh leaning against a nearby wall, resting. Unless the inquisitor had been unconscious for far longer than he'd thought, Thorel must have carried the warrior back up to the vault chamber.

"You want to know Tash's most closely guarded secret?" Thorel asked as he carefully supported the limping inquisitor. "It wasn't the fact that he associated with aliens, or his operations within the Academy. It was the fact that he was in debt. That was the legacy left to him by his master. When he died, he ensured Tash would never have to stop working a day in his life. When he was younger, he sought to climb through the ranks, put his past behind him. But he couldn't. He had inherited something that would follow him to his grave. Every trick, every ploy, every battle fought was intended to chip away at that debt. But the world of a Sith is a tricky one. You can't operate alone. And assistance is rarely given freely. Everyone expects something in return. So as the years went by, the debt stayed. It meant he no longer had control over his own life. But the items in these vaults? They could finally wipe away the debt and then some. With no more ties to the other Lords, he believed we could finally stop mucking about from the shadows, fearing whatever retaliation every action would bring. I never knew the extent of my master's debt, but I knew it was the only thing he feared, because he knew it would eventually transfer to me. I would be just as shackled as he was. All he ever wanted was to be free. Though now, I suppose he was more concerned with me than himself. He wanted me to be the one who could do all the things he couldn't. Earn a place amongst the Sith, one capable of influencing them without constantly looking over my shoulder as he was forced to."

Thorel carefully unwrapped the inquisitor's arm from around his neck, and lowered him back to the floor, propping him against the wall beside his resting companion.

"But we're always looking over our shoulders, aren't we?" Thorel continued. "Indebted or not, a Sith cannot interact with his surroundings without drawing the ire of another. Every cause has its effect. Every action its consequence. If Tash was willing to sacrifice his students to retrieve the contents of these vaults, these uncontested, relatively unknown vaults, how much sacrifice will be called for to truly make a difference in the Empire? I believe the Sith Order needs to change, but I don't believe I am capable of bringing about those changes. Or rather, I'm not willing to do what's necessary. There's only one sacrifice I'm willing to make."

Reaching to his belt, Thorel retrieved an intact communicator and held it to his mouth.

"This is Vai Thorel speaking on all channels. Darth Tash is no more. As his apprentice, I am assuming command. All pilots, prepare for departure. Your orders are to deliver the acolytes and spoils to the compound on Dromund Kaas. Those with contested targets are ordered to stand down, leave the items behind and instead provide transport for the surviving students."

Thorel disengaged the comm, returning it to his belt.

"You know where the artifacts and students are heading, do with them as you wish," Thorel declared. "Ikton will be able to let you in."

"What are you going to do?" Lorrik asked.

"Nothing. I going to do what no other Sith is capable of. Walk away," Thorel admitted.

"But what about Tash's debt?"

"Since Ikton isn't his official apprentice, it will fall entirely onto me," Thorel explained. "I'll absorb the burdens of the past. The burdens of the future, I'll leave those in your hands."

"You don't have to do this," Lorrik softly stated.

"We don't have to do anything. But the fact that we get the choice is what makes us Sith."


	112. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Lorrik and Jresh stood at the edge of the wounded floor, gazing out into skyline beyond the open face of the vault chamber. Pillars of smoke and fire rose above the spires of the ecumenopolis, a constant reminder of the destruction wrought by the invasion. But even as the city burned, the Sith felt at ease. They were alive. They had succeeded. They now had the chance to give the acolytes their lives back, give them a place within the Empire. It would require sacrifice, it would earn the ire of the traditionalists in power, but they had the option they had so desperately searched for these past days, past weeks, past months.

Behind the apprentices, a small group of Imperials in civic garb ferried items from the eleventh vault through the building's interior, to the nearby outcropping where Thorel's shuttle had docked. Tash's apprentice had led the injured Syrosk down to the landed vessel, to the confusion of the ship's pilot. When the vault was emptied, when Lorrik and Jresh were ready to depart, they would leave together aboard that shuttle. They would visit the other apprentices and their allies, help them load up their ship with the artifacts ignored by Tash's people. But for now, the apprentices were content to gaze out toward the evening sky, side by side.

"I can't believe we did it," Lorrik softly stated. The Human stood upright, having regained control of his body. He was still tired beyond belief, and much of his right side was still covered in burnt flesh and dark lines arcing up and down his arm, but in that moment he was content.

"Somehow, I didn't think this is how it would all pan out," Jresh admitted, trying to maintain his stoicism despite the weakness pervading his body.

"Today, or the past two years?" Lorrik offered alongside a chuckle. The Pureblood cracked a hesitant smile, playing off his partner's revelry. Before the two could continue their conversation, one of the Imperials approached them from behind.

"Excuse me, sirs," the sheepish male spoke up. Lorrik turned to face the individual, who had his hands cupped around a shining object. An amulet baring a red jewel, as well as a broken chain. "We found something in the refuse below. Shall we put it with the other items?"

"I'll take it. Thanks," Lorrik politely stated. With a respectful nod, the Imperial offered the amulet to the inquisitor before backing away without another word. Holding the item in his right hand, a soft luminance began to pulse from deep within the crimson jewel.

"So. What next?"

* * *

The eleventh vault had been emptied. Lorrik and Jresh had retreated to the shuttle with Thorel and Syrosk. The vessel's cargo bay contained the gathered spoils of two vaults, as well as the body of Tash at his apprentice's request, to receive a proper burial. The ship lifted itself from its landing struts and began making the rounds to the others vaults, delivering to the other apprentices the news of their victory. One by one the vaults were visited, sounding the call for a return home. One vault, however, had already been completely abandoned. Vault Six had already been cleared out, and its attackers had long since fled, taking their spoils with them. The attackers of Vault Four, the two brothers formerly under the employ of Tash, had loaded up their shuttle and departed alongside the other apprentices, keeping a close eye on their cut, but not running away with it.

Passing through the Coruscanti atmosphere, the shuttles darted around the scattered debris of orbital stations and ships, ready to jump into hyperspace. Their eyes set on Dromund Kaas, the Sith left the Republic capital to burn under the heel of Imperial might. Or so they thought. Long after they had returned home, the apprentices learned of the apparent ploy enacted by the Emperor. They had gone into the core world expecting it to be razed, that after setting in their sights the home of the Jedi, the Sith would do everything in their power to see it utterly destroyed. But such was not the case.

In its state of extreme duress, the Republic was forced to sign a peace treaty to save their home. The previous call for peace that was intended only to lure them into a false sense of security had actually been followed through with after all. The war was over. The Empire had won.

And so had the apprentices. So had the acolytes. After all their trials, after all their sacrifices, they had finally ascended. And in their ascension, their lives were their own. The time had come for the apprentices to go their separate ways. The pairs would not readily shed the bonds they had forged, but they each had their own plans for the future.

* * *

_0 ATC_

Korriban. The Academy. Even though the war was over, things were far from peaceful on the Sith's ancestral homeworld. There was a fervor in the institution's occupants, some relishing in their victory over their ancient foes, others furious that they weren't able to partake in the ultimate battle. But the students and instructors continued as they always had. The Empire always needed Sith. Now more than ever to replace those who had fallen.

Deep within the Academy, Lord Syrosk stood in the center of a grand chamber, his right leg replaced with a prosthetic. A circle of thrones surrounded him as monumental statues cast their stony gaze upon the visitor. Twelve seats. Not all occupied. Some filled with physical bodies, others with holograms, others still went completely unfilled, their owners absent or fallen. A meeting had been called, between the Dark Council and a lone petitioner.

"Esteemed Councilors. My name is Syrosk," the alien began. "Sith Lord, apprentice of Darth Omnus, and servant to the Empire for over fifty years. I took part in the first and final battles of the Great War. I, along with my master, provided the Order its favored sons and daughters, seeking out Force-sensitive children and delivering them to the Academies since before we revealed ourselves to the galaxy. I have given my life to the Empire, time and time again, even when it didn't ask me to. I believe in the superiority of the Sith. I believe in the efficiency of the Empire. I have followed the Code, as have my students. But it is a Sith's right, a Sith's duty, to improve. To seek perfection. And after decades of living amongst the Empire, its imperfect nature has become more and more apparent. Selfishness runs rampant throughout its core. Not the kind that drives someone forward. Not the kind that instills confidence and pride. The kind that causes Sith to turn against their own rather than focus their attention on our enemies. Rather than challenging ourselves, we seek to remove challenge from our lives. We strike one another down because we perceive them as threats. We deny potential strength over fears of pride and sovereignty. We've eschewed our most basic and sacred tenets in favor of biased traditions and pithy motives. Who are we to deny strength? To deny power? The Sith were born from those who had been held back, restrained in their studies, unpermitted to harness the Force in all its forms. Now we do the same to our own. There are those willing to fight and die for the Empire, for the Sith, but we deny them because of perceived inferiority. Because we believe they sully the reputation of the pure blooded. I would understand the hesitance to invite weakness into our midst, but do we not possess the means to discern the weak from the strong beyond petty ideals? A Sith's worth ought be measured by their skill. So long as the Force flows through their veins, what does it matter the purity of their blood? Aliens. Slaves. Impurities. There are those willing to devote themselves, those willing to face the trials, those willing to live and die in service of the Empire. Almost a hundred students, whom the Order would consider unworthy, fought in the Battle of Coruscant. Jedi and Republic defenders alike fell by their hands. Due to their efforts, they recovered the largest cache of Sith and dark side artifacts in our recent history. They are not weak. They are strong. But some would fear their inclusion because of their heritages, despite the fact that the Empire is stronger due to their efforts. And all they ask in return is recognition. They've handed over their spoils, wanting only a place in the Empire, wanting only to be seen as Sith. We may have won the war, but we did not avoid loss. Sith from the lowliest acolytes to members of the Dark Council perished in the final hours of the our conflict. Our ranks will need to be replenished. The standard supply of worthy children will not be sufficient. If the Sith are to survive, they must be willing to adapt."

The present councilors stared down the alien Lord, their chins resting on interwoven fingers. The figures of immense power remained stoic to the petitioner's pleas, but his words did not fall on deaf ears. They had listened, and each person had their opinions on the matter, but none were willing to speak. Some found something of worth in Syrosk's words. Others were utterly reviled by the suggested notions. Most remained indifferent, willing to form an opinion only after being sure of its consequence.

But one councilor was willing to speak. A dark figure, garbed head to toe in armored robes, face concealed beneath a hood and all-encompassing mask. The Darth possessed a powerful frame, and an even more oppressive aura. Simply standing in his presence was to bask in the dark side.

"We are aware of the actions your students have taken," the councilor declared, his voice utterly low and penetrative. "Their efforts have proven them capable, worthy of a place within the Empire. But now is not the time for haphazard inclusion and change. Even in victory, even in defeat, we maintain our strength. Until such circumstances arise that such is no longer true, Academy standards will not be lowered. Dismissed."

Syrosk dutifully bowed his head, offering no further words as he turned on his heels and moved toward the chamber exit with an uneven pace.

Outside the council chambers, the alien Lord slowly made his way toward the Academy halls, favoring his left leg. His sluggish pace meant it was easy for someone to catch up with him.

"A fine speech," a regal voice softly called out. "Not the best I've heard, but remarkable given the setting and speaker."

Syrosk turned to see an elderly Pureblood garbed in long, ornate robes calmly walking toward him. The alien offered a respectful dip of his head. "Darth Vowrawn."

"It's a shame they weren't more reticent to your pleas," Vowrawn politely stated. The Dark Councilor exuded a level of charm and charisma that rivaled Tash, a fact that simultaneously endeared and unsettled the Sith Lord. "If there's anyone whom understands the importance of a numbers game, it is I. But all things in time, I suppose. Restrictions will eventually be lifted to replace the dwindling number of Sith acolytes."

"We can only hope," Syrosk muttered. "But at least my acolytes will have a place amongst Sith now."

"They'll be just as hated, overworked, and undervalued," Vowrawn bluntly stated. "But what is a Sith without a little hardship? Now they're free to live as they wish, and I'm free to renovate the under halls of the Academy now that they're no longer being used. What about you? What are your plans for the future?"

"I don't know. The acolytes no longer need me. And with nothing left to teach them, I've parted ways with my apprentices," Syrosk explained.

"It's a shame about the two you reported as killed during the invasion," Vowrawn playfully stated. "Then again, there's practically no way to confirm them as casualties."

"They wanted out. I provided them means to do so," Syrosk declared. "Those who wished to remain as Sith are ingratiating themselves into the Order proper. But from now on, how they live their lives is up to them."

"And what of your life? Surely you're not content with retirement?" Vowrawn suggested. "You know, you and your master provided an unmatched service to Production and Logistics. I know of a way you could make yourself useful."

"I'm no longer a Seer," Syrosk admitted. "If you need someone to find Force-sensitives, you'll need to find someone else."

"Oh, no. What I propose is much more conducive to your current skillset," Vowrawn declared. "It's not your visions I'm after, but your capabilities as a mentor. You've taken individuals of relatively little worth, and elevated them to truly remarkable levels. I'd like to see what you could do with students of exceptional promise."

"You want me as an instructor?" Syrosk asked.

"No, nothing so mundane. I have a special project I've been putting together. One I believe you'd be very interested in," Vowrawn declared. "And after all, you still owe me for all the shuttle's I've lent you, as well as helping the Thorel boy with his debts."

The Sith Lord eyed the regal Darth, finding no answers behind his charming visage.

"Alright. What did you have in mind?"

* * *

"So who is it we're supposed to be meeting with?"

"I don't know. Some hotshot artifact hunters."

"Artifact hunters? Like, that's all they do?"

"No, but that's what they're known for. And they're pretty damned good at it. I hear they're the ones who masterminded that heist on Coruscant. You know, the one that took place at the same time as the invasion?"

"What? No way. They're the guys?"

"Yeah. And whatever you're looking for, they can find it. They say what needs saying, do what needs doing, everything."

"Who's their master?"

"Don't got a master."

"But who do they serve? Who do they report to?"

"No one. They're independent. Completely. No masters, no apprentices. They bounce between the spheres with no permanent station. Lets them operate as they see fit whilst stepping on as few toes as possible."

"Gentlemen," a confident voice interrupted from across the room.

The two Imperials looked up to see two men standing side by side at the chamber's entrance. One was a Human, face soft yet utterly determined and carrying a warm glint. The other was a Pureblood, standing tall and firm, visage unfalteringly stoic.

"Lorrik and Jresh, at your service."

**The End**

* * *

_Afterword: Thanks for reading, everyone. I always welcome thoughts, ideas, and comments, especially from those who have made it through the entire story. This one may be over, but I've others in the works, including sequels based off some of the characters in this story, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoyed the read._


	113. X-01 Executors

**Exologue One: Executors**

0 ATC

Dromund Kaas. The Sith Empire was adapting to the new galactic climate. One of peace. The Great War had ended. And in their minds, they had won. Coruscant burned, and would have been reduced to nothing had their conditions not been met. All their years of planning, all their years of waiting to reveal themselves, and in a few short decades, the Empire brought the Republic to its knees. It was a time to celebrate, but now new preparations had to be made.

The Empire's borders and holdings had rapidly expanded as a result of the Treaty of Coruscant. Even in victory, their forces had waned, and were stretched perilously thin. It was the fear they had stricken into the hearts and minds of the Republic and the Jedi that protected them. But that fear would not last, especially without a war to propagate it. Thus it fell to the Empire and its leaders to rebuild, to strengthen, to cement the ideal of superiority in their every facet.

But the normal operations the Sith had relied on for centuries would not prove sufficient. The tenet of individuality and personal power had provided the Empire a base for military might, but some measure of order was needed to ensure their control over their new territories. The Ministry of War possessed the skill and discipline to secure the new worlds, but lacked the necessary numbers. The same was true for Imperial Intelligence, more than capable of monitoring threats across the galaxy, less able to act on them. Every sphere of the Sith Empire had its role to play in the new age. And every sphere had its own way to fulfill that role.

Perhaps the most integral to the continued success of the Empire was that of Production and Logistics. Charged with balancing intelligence and troop movements, maintaining the economy, supervising labor and agricultural supplies, securing trade and transport, the sphere dealt with the underlying framework that kept the Empire running smoothly and efficiently. But the majority of its work was behind the scenes. It operated not through warriors and posturing, but through numbers and records. And though its influence stretched toward all corners of the Empire, the sphere was perceived as weak. Limited.

The perception was not misplaced. It lacked the agents other spheres possessed. It lacked the Sith presence of other organizations. It lacked enforcers, those willing to carry out its plans, and instead relied upon the other spheres to carry out what it deemed necessary for the Empire's survival. But that was soon to change.

The Dark Councilor heading the Sphere of Production and Logistics, Darth Vowrawn, had a plan. One involving the rectification of his domain's single greatest fault. Thus, the Executors of Logistics were born.

Within the halls of the Citadel, the foundations were being placed. The framework was being constructed. And the first members were being picked. In a small office, rather than some opulent chamber of Sith splendor, two figures had tucked themselves away. Away from fellow Sith. Away from Imperial Guardsmen. Isolated.

Both elder gentlemen, one possessed the red skin of a Pureblood. The other's was a rough, leathery orange, belonging to an alien species unheard of within Imperial space. The Pureblood was regal, dignified. The other was coarse, stoically fierce. One a refined statesman, the other a horned Lord who'd seen more lost than gained.

Darth Vowrawn. Algo Syrosk.

Dark Councilor. Executor Zero.

Syrosk sat behind a desk, whist his superior gently paced about the compact room. In front of the seated Lord sat an array of datapads, each displaying information on potential recruits, pulled from official Logistics databanks.

"Amazing isn't it?" Vowrawn commented as Syrosk poured over the stream of information. "Details regarding every registered citizen of the Empire at our fingertips."

"Keyword: Registered," Syrosk curtly replied. "There are countless individuals who managed to slip through the cracks."

"Like your former students?" Vowrawn supposed. "They'll be in there soon enough. They did earn their citizenship, after all. But then again, we're not interested in slaves and aliens now are we? This isn't to be some underground operation. Just because we're not broadcasting our actions to the galaxy, doesn't mean we don't have rules and standards to conform to."

"And yet you've put me in charge of things," Syrosk commented.

"In the public's eye, there is no Executor Zero," Vowrawn declared. "You are the lone piece of intrigue in an otherwise upstanding organization. If anyone asks, you are merely a consultant, picked for your many years of service recruiting for the Academies."

"I thought that actually was my purpose," Syrosk admitted.

"For now, it is," Vowrawn explained. But as recruitment winds down, I was hoping you would be interested in a more… hands-on role."

"So you want me for more than finding suitable Sith after all," Syrosk muttered.

"You're in charge of filling the ranks, who will be divided into teams and guided by handlers in accordance to their relative talents and skill levels," Vowrawn detailed. "But afterward, I'd like to you oversee a particular group. Be their handler."

"You're giving me a new set of apprentices?" Syrosk supposed.

"No," Vowrawn offered with a quick chuckle. "There is a time and place for hierarchies and traditions. This isn't one of them. We're asking those we bring in to give up their rank and titles. They'll be Executors. Not apprentices, not Lords, not Darths."

"No Darths," Syrosk declared. "They'll destabilize the organizations with power plays and prideful endeavors. I'm going along with this because you promised this would be a chance to help the Empire. I'll not see it devolve into the same chaos I've seen these past decades."

"Very well. No Darths," Vowrawn conceded. "But for this to work, we'll need heavy hitters. Sith who can get things done."

"I can give you at least two," Syrosk replied.

"You can give me three more, assuming you accept my offer," Vowrawn declared.

"Who do you have in mind?" Syrosk wondered.

"Three Sith. Apprentices who lost their masters in the last hours of the war," Vowrawn informed. "Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. I'd like to see you make use of their talents."

"How do you know them?"

"I like to keep tabs on the more interesting students to leave the Academies," Vowrawn declared. "A man in my position needs to stay cognizant of potential threats and assets."

"What makes these three special?" Syrosk inquired.

"I believe they possess a potential unrealized by their former masters," Vowrawn explained. "And without proper guidance, all that potential will just fade away."

"And what do you hope to accomplish with this… realized potential," Syrosk asked.

"The same thing as you," Vowrawn stated. "Raising Sith of worth, who believe in bettering the Empire rather than fulfilling their own selfish desires."

"A lot of people say they want to make the Empire a better place. And most of them would have others manipulated to see that want realized," Syrosk stated.

"Speaking from experience, are we?" Vowrawn supposed.

"I lied to my students, thinking the truth would sabotage everything I had hoped to build. I was wrong, and it nearly cost me everything," Syrosk confessed. "I don't plan on making the same mistake again."

"That's good to hear," Vowrawn said. "I'm sure they'll be in capable hands then."

"I trust all the others will be as well?"

"Of course they will."

"Good. Because the last time someone betrayed me, I spent every waking moment of life righting the wrong they had committed. If I find out that you've been lying to me, that there's some hidden purpose you're not telling me about…"

Vowrawn's wrinkled lips turned into a coy smirk. "It's good you haven't lost your spirit. Because you're going to need it."

The alien released a low sigh. "You going to tell me more about these Sith you want to me to oversee?"

"That can wait," Vowrawn calmly directed. "You can focus on recruitment for now."

"Can I at least know their names?" Syrosk inquired.

"Asher. Fay. Graves."

* * *

_Syrosk's story continues in… '**Executors of Logistics: The Misfits**'_


End file.
